


Make Your Siren's Call

by crunchrapsupreme



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Animal Death, Firefighters, Fluff, Kittens, M/M, firefighter!marco, veterinarian!jean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-07 16:05:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1905240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crunchrapsupreme/pseuds/crunchrapsupreme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean Kirschstein is a veterinarian. Marco Bodt is a firefighter. They meet under very..... <i>cliché</i> circumstances, and Jean tries not to fall too hard, but Marco is the epitome of everything Jean never knew he wanted.</p><p>It turns out saving kittens from trees isn't this firefighter's only talent, and Jean learns the hard way that falling in love isn't such a bad thing after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. If This Room Was Burning, I Wouldn't Even Notice

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first snk fic that's not 5k words or less wow.
> 
> my friend gave me the idea of firefighter!marco and i was like hell yeah, only planning on doing a little drabble or something
> 
> but then it turned out way longer than what i was expecting omg
> 
> so yes. also, it's rated explicit because there is sex in the last chapter. tags will be updated accordingly 8)

Jean knew he had forgotten _something_ this morning when he left for work. His routine is easy; he wakes up, takes a shower, brushes his teeth while trying to tame his dirty blonde hair, combing it with his fingers because he’s usually running too late to actually attempt to style it, and then he throws on his uniform, goes downstairs, and pops two pieces of toast in the toaster. While his toast is cooking, he goes out to get the mail and he lets his cat Baby follow him because she likes to taste the morning dew on the grass blades while he grabs the bills from the mailbox. She’s a good girl, doesn’t ever try to run or stray farther than a few feet from Jean while he’s out there, and by the time they both make it back inside, Jean’s toast is toasted and if he’s not running _too_ late (which most of the time he is) he’ll have time to butter them and stuff his face while grabbing his wallet and keys, locking up the house, and bolting to his car.

Jean should’ve known something was going to go wrong today when he woke up a mere fifteen minutes before he had to _be_ at work. He had scrambled like hell to brush his teeth and pat his hair down with some water to fix any cowlicks, not having time to shower, and today on his way to get the mail it was a run-and-dash chore, and by the time he threw the bills on the counter, his car keys were already in his hand and his mind already on his first appointment of the day angrily waiting for him to arrive.

He doesn’t realize that he hadn’t bothered to check to see if Baby had followed him out for his mail dash, and if so, that she was now safely inside, until he’s pulling up his driveway after work. He steps out of his used, rusted red Ford Taurus, and his ears are immediately flooded with loud, pitiful wailing meows coming from… above him?

Jean locks his car and pockets his keys, and when he steps onto his front lawn and looks up, big, scared yellow eyes are staring down at him, long tail wrapped around Baby’s tiny little body and claws anchored into the tree bark for life. She’s pretty far up the tree, to be honest, and Jean feels his heart clench as he thinks about that fact that she’s probably been up there _all day_. It’s 6:30pm right now, and Jean leaves for work at around 8am. Jean doesn’t want to think about his baby sitting up there for hours upon hours, scared and alone.

“Don’t worry, sweetie, I’m coming to get you,” Jean calls up weakly, because he feels his brain filling with panic, and he takes a deep breath as he bites his nails, analyzing the situation and the tree in front of him.

He considers climbing the tree, but he _knows_ that’s the worst idea he could ever have. Even if he did manage that, he’d have a hard as hell time trying to get back down without dropping Baby.

He vaguely thinks about getting a ladder out of his garage but he remembers suddenly that he doesn’t _have_ a ladder, and _besides_ , he’s scared as hell of heights so he’d probably only get halfway up before vomiting and/or passing out (which shoots down the ‘climbing tree’ plan even more).

Jean tugs uselessly at his hair and paces back and forth, and Baby mewls quietly from above him. She seems slightly calmer now that Jean is here, but Jean still feels guilty because he let his cat get _stuck in a tree_ , what kind of owner _is he_ , oh god. He’s going to end up in like, pet owner hell or something for being a piece of shit who can’t keep his animals from getting stuck in fucking trees. He’s going to be on an eternal loop of watching the terrified look on Baby’s face, the betrayal in her amber eyes, and Jean will have to live with this guilt for the rest of his _life -_

“Hey, are you okay?”

Jean startles, not having noticed his crouched, defeated position in the middle of his front lawn, hands buried over his face as Baby stares at him in wonder, head tilting as another quiet meow escapes her.

He clears his throat, cheeks burning as he scrambles to stand up. He brushes the seat of his pants off and finally looks up at the guy making his way over to him. The first thing Jean notices is the bags of takeout in his right hand, Jean suddenly feeling extremely hungry because he’s been out here dooming himself for the past 20 minutes instead of eating dinner like he normally does after he gets home from work.

The next thing he notices is the almost overbearing splattering of freckles across his face, and when Jean glances down at the guy’s arms peeking out from rolled up sleeves, he sees more brown-orange spots flooding his forearms down to his hands.

Jean crosses his arms and clears his throat once more, opens his mouth to say something, but he’s interrupted with a loud, curt meow from above him, and his cheeks color again as the guy in front of him tilts his head up to look at Baby. Her tail is swishing excitedly, as if she trusts this random stranger to save her over Jean, and to be honest, Jean doesn’t really blame her.

“Need some help?” The guy finally says, and there’s a lightness in his tone, a warmth there that has Jean almost immediately accepting his offer, but Jean hesitates just slightly, because who does this guy think he _is_ -

“It’s okay, I’m a firefighter,” the guy says when he notices Jean’s pursed expression. “I’ve dealt with animals stuck in trees before, believe it or not.”

“I thought ‘fireman helping small kitten stuck in tree’ was just a movie trope,” Jean says, but he relaxes his stance slightly when the guy laughs gently, shaking his head.

“Nope. It’s actually a thing. Happens way more often than you’d think, too.”

A warm breeze rustles the tree leaves, and Baby gives another helpless mewl, and Jean is suddenly back into mother hen mode, muscles tensing and fingers gripping his elbows as he hugs himself, helpless. The guy must notice his panic, because he takes a slight step forward, says,

“Do you have a ladder?”

Jean shakes his head, voice wavering because god, he feels like such a crap owner right now, and he just wants Baby back into his arms, safe and warm. “I don’t - I mean, I’m afraid - ”

“That’s fine, I think Armin has a ladder. Stay here, I’ll be right back, okay?”

Jean nods carefully as he watches the guy jog over to his neighbor’s house, knocking on the door in quick, sharp raps.

His neighbor Armin is a quiet man who owns the bookshop a few blocks over, and Jean had moved in next to him about three years ago. They don’t really speak too much, but Jean nods to Armin on the weekends when he walks his dog and spots Armin doing garden work in the rectangle of dirt in his front lawn. Armin’s lawn always looks colorful and alive in the spring and summer months, and Jean had contemplated a few times asking if he could pay Armin to plant some flowers in his front lawn too, because they always looked so inviting and bright.

Other than that, they’re just quiet acquaintances who occasionally get each other’s bills and have to swap. 

“It’s okay,” Jean says when Baby mewls quietly above him, and to be honest, he can’t tell if he’s talking more to Baby or himself.

The sound of a garage door opening startles him slightly, and when he looks up, he sees Freckles making his way towards him, a tall ladder balanced on his shoulder, Armin following a few feet behind him, face tinged with worry.

“Marco told me what’s going on,” Armin says as Marco leans the ladder up against the tree, and _Marco_ , that’s his name. It suits him, Jean thinks, as he watches the broad set of Marco’s shoulders through his shirt as he climbs carefully up to retrieve Baby.

Jean keeps his eyes on the man on the ladder as he responds to Armin. “Thanks for lending your ladder.”

Armin smiles and waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it. If I had a pet and it got stuck in a tree, I’m sure you’d do the same.”

“I don’t have a ladder,” Jean blurts out, and his cheeks immediately color pink when he hears Marco laugh from above them, and Armin chuckles softly, eyes warm and bright when they glances over at Jean.

“Anyways, how old is your cat?” Armin asks, and Jean knows he’s trying to get the focus off of Marco trying to coax Baby closer to him, teetering dangerously on the ladder and Jean’s hands feel clammy suddenly, worry settling in the pit of his stomach.

“Her name’s Baby, and she’ll be one year old next month,” Jean replies, wringing his hands. “I adopted her because her owners had brought her into my work, asking if I could do anything about her right eye because she’s blind on that side, and when I said there wasn’t anything I could do they were going to take her to a humane society, so I asked if I could just take her.”

“You work with animals?” Marco calls out from up on the ladder, finally having grabbed Baby, now holding her close to his chest as he slowly makes his way back down the ladder.

“I’m a veterinarian,” Jean says weakly, his eyes trained on Marco’s back as he descends, and as soon as the man turns around, he’s handing Baby off to Jean gently, eyes fond as he watches Jean hug the cat to his chest, burying his nose in her fur and mumbling soft apologies.

“M’sorry, sweetie,” Jean mumbles, kissing Baby’s head, and she slowly starts to purr as her own fear dissipates, finally safe in her owner’s arms again, and when she meows again, it’s happy and content.

Jean looks up after a few moments, sees Armin and Marco watching him with small smiles on their faces, and Jean offers a grateful smile of his own.

“Thanks for, uh. Saving my cat,” Jean manages, eyes mostly trained on Marco, and Marco waves his hand dismissively, voice warm when he responds,

“It’s no problem. I’m happy I could help you, um…..”

“Jean,” Jean supplies, cradling Baby close and trying not to stare at the way Marco’s biceps flex beneath the fabric of his shirt when he reaches for the ladder, eyes still glancing at Jean.

“I’m happy I could help, Jean.”

He gathers up the ladder, and Armin shoves his hands in his pockets as he smiles at Jean, says,

“I had actually invited Marco over for dinner tonight, but you’re welcome to join us too, if you want.”

Marco nods, fingers gripping the ladder tightly so it doesn’t tip to the ground. “Yeah. I bought enough takeout for a small army, so we have plenty of food.”

Jean scritches Baby behind the ears, and when his stomach growls loudly, he flushes as Marco gives him a small smile.

He supposes it can’t hurt, and he nods in thanks, says, “Let me just got put Baby back in the house, and change out of my work clothes, okay?”

Marco grins at him, and Armin nods as they begin walking away, back to Armin’s garage to put the ladder away.

Baby meows at him again, and Jean suddenly realizes she hasn’t eaten all day, the poor thing. He hugs her close, cooing apologetically as he walks inside his house and sets her down in front of the food bowl, where she immediately starts gobbling up her dinner.

Jean’s almost knocked over when Finlay, his five year old golden retriever, jumps at him happily. Jean laughs and accepts the licking kisses to his face, and when his other cat Simon, a 12 year old tabby he took off of his parent’s hands when they decided to downsize to a small condo that forbade pets, winds around his leg, Jean crouches down to scratch under his chin.

“Hey, buddy,” Jean says, eventually standing up once he’s given his pets enough welcome-home love, and he contemplates on what he should wear.

It’s just a casual dinner of takeout with his neighbor and his neighbor’s hot firefighter friend and - wait.

Jean rubs the back of his neck as he heaves a deep sigh, eventually just tossing on a tee shirt and a pair of jeans, trying not to think about anything other than _casual dinner with two other people one of whom he’s only casually interested in_. Casually. As friends. Maybe even _close_ friends, because Marco did save his cat, and that counters a lot of brownie points for anyone in Jean’s book.

Finlay nudges his leg, and Jean idly reaches down to scratch him behind the ear before slipping on his shoes, grabbing his cell, and making his way back out the front door.

\--

Armin’s house is a cozy, homey little ranch with a lot of floral decoration and a forest green suede couch in his living room. His kitchen is themed yellow and lilac, and the wall paper reminds Jean of the _Better Homes and Gardens_ magazines his mom would read every morning.

The house is animal-free, which is strange to Jean since he’s lived his whole life with a cat or dog winding around his leg while he eats dinner, begging for food and whatnot, so the lack of a furry creature at his feet is a little strange.

“So, Jean, you’re a vet?”

Marco’s voice interrupts Jean’s thoughts, and Jean finishes his bite of orange chicken before responding.

“Uh, yeah,” he says, taking a swig of his water and watching as Armin opens the fridge up. There’s a large box on the middle shelf that Jean recognizes as Franzia boxed wine, and he tries to hide a smile because it’s so _domestic_ it’s almost scary. All Armin’s missing is an apron and a husband bustling in through the door from his day at work.

He’s briefly thinking that maybe _Marco_ is that person, but when Jean glances over at the wall, he sees a picture of Armin in the arms of some brunette guy, lips pressed to Armin’s cheek and Armin smiling happily if not slightly embarrassed.

“Who’s that?” Jean says without thinking, nodding towards the picture frame. Armin closes the fridge and grabs a plate, walking towards the table and finally sitting down next to Marco, eyes glancing at the picture Jean had pointed out.

Armin smiles softly. “That’s Eren, my….” he pauses, as if considering how Jean will react, before continuing, “My boyfriend.”

Marco snorts and says, “You guys might as well be married. You’ve been dating since high school.”

Armin rolls his eyes, as if this topic of conversation isn’t really anything new, and says, “You go get yourself a significant other and _then_ come talk to me about mine, okay?”

Jean takes another silent bite of chicken, watching the interaction before him and swallowing before saying, “Does Eren live with you? I never see him around.”

Jean doesn’t get out much, really, but he’s sure he would’ve noticed another body picking weeds with Armin on Sundays, or another car parked in the driveway.

“He travels a lot,” Armin says, his voice going soft as a careful smile graces his face. “This is actually the longest he’s been gone. It’ll be three months tomorrow.”

“What does he do?” Jean asks, setting his glass of water down.

“He’s part of a historical archaeology research group,” Armin replies. “He’s always been into history and fossils and bones and stuff, and his favorite place to study at is Europe so he leaves the country a lot for that.”

He sounds sad, but also insanely proud, and Jean can’t help but smile because Armin looks so in love, eyes straying to the picture frame on the wall, seeming to almost forget he has company over.

Jean tries not to feel lonely, because the last relationship he had was about 2 years ago with one of his clients. Her name was Hannah, and she had a seven year old Yorkie that was prone to ear infections. His coworkers had pushed him into asking her out to dinner since he’d been flying solo for a while. Apparently, according to everyone he worked with, he was beginning to give off the ‘pathetically single’ vibe. 

The relationship was a short one, only lasting around three months, and the breakup was mutual, for the most part. Hannah had fallen for somebody else, and the fact that Jean wasn’t nearly as heartbroken as he should’ve been kind of told him he wasn’t as into the relationship as he initially thought he was anyways.

“What’s it like being a firefighter?” Jean asks after a few minutes of eating in silence.

Marco looks up from his plate and shrugs. “It’s nice. A little hectic at times, and the hours can be crazy, but I love my job.” He smiles, and Jean tries to shove down the heat attempting to creep into his cheeks as Marco continues, “What about you? How’s the life of a vet?”

Jean can’t help the smile that floods his face. “I love it, it’s great. I get to work with animals every single day, doing what I love. The best part is seeing the faces of the owners when they come back to pick their pets up after surgery. I’m a sucker for reunions, and it reminds me of my babies at home and - ”

Jean stops himself, because he realizes he’s rambling, and his cheeks color as he thinks that Marco is probably getting annoyed, because who wants to listen to him talk about _work?_

But when he looks up, Marco’s eyes are trained on his face, chin resting in the palm of his hand, looking genuinely _interested_ , and Jean swallows when Armin begins to put the food away, leaving just him and Marco at the table.

Jean rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry, uh.”

Marco’s eyes widen and he sits up straighter, waving his hand dismissively. “No, no, don’t apologize. You seem really passionate about your job. I like listening to people talk about the things they love.”

His smile is genuine and friendly, and Jean wants to ask him more about _his_ job, because for some reason he feels like he’d enjoy listening to him too, but Armin comes back and sits down right as Marco glances at the time.

“Shit, I should get going,” he says, standing up and taking his plate to the sink, rinsing it off. When Jean glances at Armin, the boy is looking at him with an unreadable expression, his lips quirked up, and Jean averts his eyes, eating his last bite of chicken before chugging the rest of his water. He vaguely hopes Armin isn’t going to try and play cupid, because he’s _not_ interested in Marco. Nope. Not one bit.

And besides, even if he _was_ interested in Marco, he wouldn’t need Armin’s help, thank you very much. Jean could _totally_ woo Marco all on his own. If he wanted to.

Which he doesn’t.

“I should get going, too,” Jean says, standing up a little too suddenly and taking his plate over to where Marco is still rinsing his dish. He looks up when Jean appears next to him, and he gently takes the plate from his hands, cutting off Jean’s protest.

“It’s cool, I’ll do it.”

“It should be _me_ who’s doing the dishes,” Armin pipes up, but he doesn’t sound too upset that Marco’s taking care of it. “You two are my guests.”

Marco laughs. “You know I don’t mind helping out.”

“You’re a saint,” Armin replies, smirking and rolling his eyes fondly.

Once the dishes are done, Marco wipes his damps hands on a towel and Armin walks them both to the front door, seeing them out.

“Thanks for joining us, Jean,” Armin says, smiling as he watches them step out the door and onto the front porch. “And I’ll see you later, Marco!”

“Thanks for inviting me over,” Jean replies, courteous, and Marco nods and waves as Armin shuts the door finally.

The sun is just beginning to set on the horizon, and it’s leaving a soft, purple-orange glow across Marco’s face when Jean looks up at him.

“Thanks again for. You know,” Jean gets out, rubbing the back of his neck out of nervous habit as he nods towards the tree in his yard. When Marco smiles at him this time, it’s softer, and the shadows on his face from the setting sun define his jaw line in a way that should probably be illegal.

“I already told you, it was no big deal.” And then he’s digging in his pocket, pulling out his car keys and an old receipt. There’s a small, keychain-sized Sharpie hooked to his keys, and he uses it to scribble something down on the crumpled receipt. “And, uh. If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to text or call me. Getting cats out of trees is merely one of my many talents.”

He hands the paper to Jean, and Jean tries not to let his face turn as red as a tomato when he carefully takes the number and tucks it into his back pocket. He doesn’t say a word when Marco gives him one last nod before climbing into his car, and when he waves at Jean briefly before taking off down the street, Jean weakly waves back a fraction too late.

The piece of paper is burning a hole in his pocket when he makes it back to his house, locking the door behind him and immediately heading upstairs to get ready for bed. His hand automatically digs out the receipt, and he tosses it onto his bedside table as he strips down to his boxers, climbing into bed and staring at the ceiling before heaving a deep sigh.

Baby settles herself on his chest, and Finlay curls up at his side. His bed isn’t the largest bed in the world, and most people would look at him like he’s crazy for letting a fully grown adult golden retriever attempt to fit next to him on the bed, but Jean makes it work.

Simon plops down up near his head, and Jean knows he’s going to wake up with a cat nearly suffocating his face, but he’s used to that also. He’s warm and sleepy, one hand cupping Baby’s small body and the other buried into Finlay’s fur, and he falls asleep with blank thoughts, the folded up paper on the nightstand being pushed to the back of his mind.

 

\--**---**--

 

The cocker spaniel laid out on the table in front of Jean whines a bit when he puts a slight pressure near her hind leg, gently turning it to get a better look before determining it’s indeed broken. She was brought in this morning from the overnight emergency clinic down the road, and though a broken leg is a pretty easy fix, it does require minor surgery because he’s going to have to realign it, unfortunately. He runs his fingers through the dog’s fur, giving her a good scratch behind the ear to calm her down before making a note to call the owner and let them know.

“Aw, what a precious girl!”

Jean looks up and rolls his eyes as Sasha enters the room, immediately going over to the cocker spaniel on the table. “She has a broken leg, Sasha. Be careful.”

“I’m always careful,” Sasha replies, leaning down and smiling at the dog, scratching under her chin. “Also, you have two spays and one neuter before lunch break today, and then later there’s a litter of puppies that need a check up and vaccinations. Other than that, you’re open for call-ins.”

“Thanks,” Jean says, grabbing his clipboard to get the number of the cocker spaniel’s owner. “Can you take her to the back and get her situated? Make sure she’s comfortable.”

Sashs stands up and salutes him, and Jean makes his way to the entrance area, where a shaky, terrified looking shih tzu is huddled in his owner’s lap. Jean makes a face of sympathy as he heads over, checks his clipboard briefly before looking at the young man holding the dog.

“You must be Mr. Kefka?”

The man nods, and attempts to soothe the animal shaking like a leaf in his lap. “Call me Franz. And this is Yoda. I have no idea how he knows, but it seems as if he’s aware he’s at the doctor’s office.”

Jean smiles at the name before getting down at eye level with the dog. “It’s the smells. Antiseptic, medicine, sickness. Dogs have incredible noses.”

This patient is written down for a simple neuter, and Jean stands up and motions them to follow him into the check up room. Normally Sasha is the one who sees the patients first, does the brief check up before grabbing Jean for diagnosis or, in this animal’s case, time estimate for the neuter, but Jean puts her in charge of the spaniel so he can go ahead and get started on his appointments for the day since his first had arrived a little early anyways.

Most neuters take between five and twenty minutes, and Jean lets the young man know, while giving him a briefing of the procedure and the after care, and with that, he tells the owner to go wait out in the waiting room while he takes care of Yoda, who’s still trembling like all hell.

“C’mon, Yoda,” Jean says cheerfully, giving the dog a comforting pat on the head. “Let’s go cut your balls off.”

\--

Connie meets him in the break room around 2pm, two bags of Taco Bell in his hands, and Jean almost cries with relief.

“I owe you my entire life,” Jean says when Connie sits down across from him, handing him a bag, and Jean immediately starts digging around for his cheesy gordita crunch.

“No thanks,” Connie says, laughing as he unwraps his taco. “I’ve seen your life. You can keep it.”

Jean glares at him before taking a bite, mumbling around a mouthful of food, “How’s your day been?”

Connie shrugs. “Eh, nothing too special. A few rabbit check ups and a hedgehog with a respiratory infection.”

Connie is an Exoctic Animal Veterinarian, who specializes in things like rabbits, ferrets, other small rodents, turtles, and the like. He’s the only vet of that practice at this small clinic, so his day is usually pretty full. Today seems to be a slightly more relaxed day for him, though (so far).

“Anyways, how’s Finlay and Co.?” Connie asks, taking a drink of his soda.

Jean suddenly remembers the events from yesterday, and he tries to ignore the blush attempting to rise as he thinks about the not-yet-forgotten phone number on his night stand. “Um. They’re all good,” and then, as a quiet after thought, adds, “Baby… got stuck in a tree yesterday?”

It’s more like a tentative question, hoping Connie is too engrossed in his knock off Mexican food to hear, but unfortunately he’s not that lucky, and Connie splutters on his bite of taco before laughing hysterically.

“Dude, _seriously?_ I thought that shit only happened in movies.”

“Oh, it gets better,” Jean says miserably, rubbing the back of his neck. “She was rescued by a _firefighter_.”

Jean refrains from adding ‘a really, really attractive firefighter, too’ to that sentence, thankfully, but Connie seems too preoccupied with trying to breathe through his laughter at the moment anyways.

“You fucking called the _fire department?_ ” Connie manages, wiping the tears from his eyes.

“No!” Jean blurts out, cheeks red. “No, jesus. Um, he’s my neighbor’s friend, who was over for dinner, who just happened to notice my dilemma, and who... also just happened to be a firefighter.”

It sounds much less believable that way, and Connie is still trying to come down from his hysterical laughter, but Jean can’t really blame him, because if one of Connie’s pets were stuck in a tree, Jean would’ve probably fallen out of his seat laughing by now, too.

“Is Baby okay, though?” Connie asks once he’s finally calmed down enough to speak properly.

Jean nods. “Yeah, she seems fine, thank god.”

“And how about your firefighter?” Connie adds nonchalantly. “Was he, you know, _fine_ too?”

Jean’s body temperature seems to raise a good 20 degrees, his ears going hot and blood rushing to the surface of his skin as he opens his mouth to respond, but Connie’s a sharp one. He has a good eye and he’s known Jean since they were in college together, so the sudden strangled silence gives him all the information he needs, and he grins much too wide for Jean’s comfort.

“Oh my god, you totally fucked the fireman.”

Jean splutters, almost knocking his drink over. “No, oh my _god_.”

Connie leans back in his chair, contemplative. “You wanted to though, right?”

“ _No_ , fuck,” Jean says, which is only a partial lie, because yes, Marco is attractive and Jean wouldn’t mind rolling around in the sheets with a guy like him, but for some reason Jean wants to… well. If this _does_ go anywhere, he doesn’t just want it to be a one-and-done thing. He doesn’t want a one night stand. He had enough of those in college, thank you very much. “He… he gave me his number. Um.”

Connie blinks before scrunching his face up and wiping away an imaginary tear. “My boy is finally going to get some.” He fake sniffles, reaching across the table to pat Jean on the shoulder. “Making daddy proud, son.”

Jean groans, letting his head fall onto the table in front of him. “Oh my god, shut _up_.”

Connie just starts laughing again, giving him another pat on the shoulder, this time a little more convincingly sincere, and Jean tries not to think of that stupid crumpled receipt on his nightstand, tries not to think about the next time he’s going to see Marco, because one day, he’d really like to see how far those freckles stretch down his body.

\--

When he gets home from work, he can’t help but glance up at the tree in his yard as he walks to his door, even though he knows for a fact he made sure Baby was safely inside this morning. It’s an unconscious act, and he can’t help but let out a quiet breath of relief when he sees the tree empty and bare. He also can’t help himself from glancing over at Armin’s house next door to see if there’s a familiar silver Nissan in the driveway. There’s not, of course, and Jean chides himself on even looking in the first place, because why should he even _care_? He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t care, and he obviously doesn’t. He heaves a sigh as he locks up his car and heads inside, his keys jingling when he drops them on the kitchen counter, and he grins as Baby immediately latches onto his pant leg, sharp claws digging in on the verge of painful as she attempts to climb his calf.

Jean reaches down and lifts her up after a few minutes of watching her struggle, and she immediately curls into the crook of his arm, purring loudly and causing her whole body to rumble happily.

A wet nose nudges his thigh, and Jean reaches down, says, “Hey, Finny, how’s my boy, huh?”

Finlay wags his tail excitedly, and Jean finally sets Baby back down on the ground, who proceeds to bat at Finlay’s wagging tail playfully. Jean sifts through the envelopes from the mail he threw onto the counter this morning, not really bothering to open them and actually glance inside because he knows ninety percent of them are just bills, and damn, sometimes he forgets how much it sucks being an adult.

He loves his job, and he’s pretty content with his life, but having flash backs to the days where ‘bill’ was just the name of his classmate in 3rd grade instead of something that causes him stress and debt really makes him miss childhood.

Jean sighs, idly digging around in the fridge for some leftover noodles from two nights ago, grabbing a fork to stir them around a bit before popping them in the microwave, going upstairs to change into some more comfortable clothes while his food cooks. He ends up grabbing the tiny slip of paper on his nightstand on his way back down to the kitchen, and the hastily written numbers are kind of intimidating but comforting at the same time.

He can’t really even remember ever having this feeling just by staring at a dumb old receipt. With Hannah, they’d just agreed on a time to go out to dinner and the number exchanging came afterwards. In college, well, he didn’t really... _date_ people, to be honest. He fooled around, exploring his new found freedom of being able to finally be himself without the ridiculous judgment of high schoolers, and never really ended up settling down into a committed relationship throughout school.

This strange, bubbly feeling in his stomach as he clutches the paper in his hands is foreign, and Jean’s not really sure what to make of it. He has some ideas, but it’s _stupid_ because Marco would _never -_

A loud _pop_ breaks his train of thought, and when he looks up, finally having walked back to the kitchen, his heart plummets into his stomach.

“Holy shit.”

He whips open the microwave door, and his noodles - along with the _stupid dumb motherfucking metal fork_ \- have caught a small fire, the spark from the metal catching the styrofoam container alight. And fuck, _styrofoam, too_. Jean feels beads of sweat bubble up on his forehead as he freezes up, because fuck, fuck there’s a _fire_ in his _microwave_ , and he’s _such a dumbass_. Now, he’s not only going to pet owner hell, he’s going to _dumbass human being who microwaves metal forks and styrofoam containers hell, also._ He must’ve not been paying attention when he grabbed the food and haphazardly started nuking it. (Which now, he might end up nuking _his whole house_ if he doesn’t get his head out of his ass and _do something_.)

Jean whines, and before he really knows what he’s doing, he’s whipping his phone out of his pocket and punching in the numbers from the crumpled receipt. He knows he should probably call the fire department or some shit, but his alarms haven't gone off, and he’s maybe just slightly embarrassed and -

“Hello?”

“Uh, hi, Marco? Is this Marco? It’s Jean, the guy - ”

“Yeah, hi! I remember,” Marco says cheerfully, and Jean wants to be happy at the warmth in his voice but he heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest, and he thinks he’s having a panic attack again, oh god. Marco seems to notice the deep breaths, though. “Are you okay? You sound… off.”

“Marco, how do I put out a fire?” Jean ends up blurting out, and his palms are sweating, the cell phone in his hand feeling heavy and weighted.

“A _fire_?” Marco replies, voice worried. “Jean, you should call the - ”

“It’s. It’s just a small one, and I’m - I’m kind of freaking out, and I don’t want to - ”

“Hey, it’s fine, you’re okay,” Marco says after a few moments, and his voice has evened out, soothing and comforting. “Tell me where it is.”

“My noodles caught on fire,” Jean manages, voice pathetic and weak as he watches the flames lick higher in his microwave, and he needs to _do something_. “In the microwave, I - fuck, I shut the door, is that bad?”

“Jean, listen to me,” Marco says over the line. “I want you to grab a damp dish towel, toss it onto the fire in the microwave, and then close the door. The lack of oxygen will suffocate the flames, okay? Can you do that for me?”

“Yes. Yes, yeah, um. Okay.”

Jean sets the phone down, hands shaky as he does as he’s told, and once he loudly slams the microwave door shut, he picks up his phone, hands still damp from wetting the towel, and breathes shakily into the receiver.

It’s quiet for a moment, Jean trying to calm his racing heart, and after a few beats of silence, Marco’s voice interrupts the quiet.

“Okay?” The word is careful and hesitant, but still comforting, and in control, like he has to deal with overly panicked people a lot (which, Jean figures, he probably _does_ , you know, with the whole firefighter thing and all).

“Yeah. I think so,” Jean says, though his voice still wobbles just a bit, and he gasps and jumps when Finlay knocks over his food bowl, the clang startling him and almost causing him to drop his phone. “ _Shit_.”

“I’m coming over, just to make sure everything is okay,” Marco says finally, and there’s really no room for protest in his punctuated words. Jean just makes a quiet noise of agreement, and when the click of the phone signals Marco has hung up, Jean takes a deep breath and eyes the microwave warily.

He kind of feels light headed, embarrassed, and anxious, because _shit_.

Marco is _coming over_.

Jean’s heart suddenly jump starts again as he scrambles to clear the bills off the table, shoving them into a drawer for now before going over and picking up Finlay’s food bowl, making sure the mess around it is cleaned up as he runs a shaky hand through his hair, eyes averting down, and that’s when he realizes he had just grabbed a ratty, frayed pair of plaid pajama pants to change into, and an oversized Best Buy-advertised t-shirt he got for free a few years ago on Black Friday when he fought for the stupid Playstation 3 he never actually uses.

All in all, he looks like a bum, but before he has a chance to run upstairs and change into something more presentable, there’s a loud knocking at his door, and Jean almost trips over his own feet as he makes his way towards it, his outfit be damned.

When he swings open the door, he feels scarily insignificant because Marco’s expression is serious with a twinge of worry from the lines creasing in his forehead, and he steps forward before Jean even invites him in, a hand careful as it reaches out to grip Jean’s elbow.

“Are you okay? You sounded really panicked on the phone.”

Jean would’ve normally had the unfortunate tendency to blush like a tomato, but his skin at the moment is so pale and drained from the events he just went through that any color wanting to make its way into his cheeks is washed out completely.

“I’m sorry, um. You didn’t have to come here. You probably had a long day at work or whatever,” Jean manages, finally stepping back and Marco’s hand falls from its grip on his elbow as he follows Jean inside.

“I’m actually off today, it’s no problem.” His smile is soft and reassuring, so Jean lets himself relax just a bit as he leads Marco to the kitchen.

Before they can even make it all the way down the hall though, an excited, warm fluffy weight bolts past Jean and almost knocks Marco on his ass, happy pants and tail wagging fast enough to blur as Finlay tries to jump Marco again.

“ _Finny_ ,” Jean scolds, stepping forward to grab Finlay’s collar, gently pulling him off Marco and holding him at his side. “Oh man, I’m _really_ sorry, I should’ve warned you.”

Marco looks a little surprised, but not angry, and he smiles as he steps forward, a hand reaching down to pet Finlay’s head, the golden retriever lapping a tongue over Marco’s fingers excitedly.

“It’s fine, I like dogs,” Marco replies, and once Jean has calmed Finlay down enough not to try and knock Marco over again, he finally leads the other man to the kitchen and vaguely waves his hand in the direction of the microwave so it can be looked at.

Jean carefully picks up Baby, idly petting her as he watches Marco open the microwave and gently lift the towel, and when he turns around he has a crispy looking styrofoam container with a half-melted fork in his hands, fire-free, and Jean lets out a sigh of relief.

“You don’t… need me to educate you on the dangers of microwaving these two items, right?” Marco jokes as he tosses them in the trash, but there’s a tiny undertone of worry as if he’s scared Jean might _actually_ be a legit uneducated dumbass.

“No!’ Jean blurts out, setting Baby back onto the ground and watching as she trots over and bumps carelessly into Marco’s leg. Jean watches as Marco smiles down at her fondly before reaching down, gently picking her up much to her happiness. Jean swallows. “Sorry, she’s blind in one eye, which causes her depth perception to be off or whatever, so she bumps into things a lot.” Jean runs a hand through his hair before continuing, “I was just. I must’ve been distracted. I wasn’t paying attention when I put it in the microwave. I’m not - ”

“It’s okay, Jean, people make mistakes,” Marco laughs, and Baby licks his chin curiously, tiny tongue scratchy and ticklish against the skin, and Marco chuckles again, large hands cupping her small body. Jean feels something tighten in his stomach at the scene in front of him, and he clutches the hem of his tee shirt unconsciously, fingers toying with the frayed edges, suddenly dangerously conscious of every move Marco makes in front of him.

“Thanks for coming, you didn’t - ” He cuts himself off when Marco shoots him a look, and Jean smiles sheepishly.  “Just. Thanks.”

Jean tries not to think of the fact that Marco has helped him _twice_ already in the past day and a half, and he feels suddenly very incapable, and very guilty, because Marco seems like the guy who just does things like this all the time without any reward.

“How about I order us some pizza or something, as a real thank you?” Jean says casually, and he tries to tell himself it’s because he thinks Marco deserves a good thanks-payment, and not because of the fact that Jean really doesn’t want him to leave yet. “I would cook, but, uh. I don’t think that’s a good idea right now.”

Jean bites his lip, rubbing the back of his neck as he glances up, awaiting Marco’s response, and Marco silently sets Baby back down on the ground next to Simon (who’s finally emerged from his cocoon of blankets at the foot of Jean’s bed) and shoves his hands in his pockets, a bright smile gracing his features as he says,

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

\--

Jean normally eats dinner on the couch in front of the television, watching old recordings from shows he tries to keep up with but ends up at least two seasons behind anyways. He figures having Marco shouldn’t deter him from his normal routine, so when he walks back into the kitchen after answering the door for the pizza, he nods towards the living room, says,

“How do you feel about Persons of Interest?”

Marco shrugs. “Never seen it.”

He follows Jean into the living room, and they sit on the couch with a good amount of space between them. Jean’s couch isn’t huge by any means, but it’s large enough that their knees don’t knock together when either of them reaches forward to grab another slice.

It feels weirdly comfortable, and Jean gets up after clicking on the television, says, “Beer?”

Marco nods and smiles in thanks, looking down as Finlay settles himself at Marco’s feet, curling up and eyeing the slice of pizza in his hand longingly. Jean watches as Marco uses his free, unoccupied hand to pet him on the head, and Jean swallows as he finally spins around, heading to the fridge to grab a couple beers and napkins off of the counter.

When he gets back, the intro sequence is over for the show, and Jean glances over after sitting back down, handing Marco his drink.

Marco’s eyes stray from the screen to take the beer, and if their fingers brush against the neck of the bottl, Jean pretends not to notice. “Thanks,” Marco says, digging in his pocket for his car keys where a keychain-sized bottle opener hangs. He pops his cap open, and Jean is suddenly aware that he forgot to open his own, and when he looks back at Marco sheepishly, Marco laughs and motions him closer.

“C’mere, I’ll pop yours too.”

Jean scoots a bit closer on the couch, and their thighs almost touch, but not quite. Jean can still feel the body heat radiating off of Marco, though, and when Marco pops the cap off his beer, Jean doesn’t move away.

“I really appreciate you coming over,” Jean mentions after a few minutes, tapping his fingers along the side of his beer bottle.

Marco grins at him again, reaching down to pet Finlay, whose head is resting against his shin. “Not a problem. I’m glad I was off work today to come and make sure you didn’t burn down your house.”

Jean hums. “Do you get a lot of days off, then?”

“Sort of,” Marco shrugs, taking a drink of his beer. “There are a few different schedules to choose from, but the one I’m on, I work four days in a row, seven am to five pm, and then I’m off for four days, and then the next four days I’m on the overnight shift five pm to seven am.”

“Having four days off must be nice, though, right?” Jean asks, because he’s only off on Sundays since they aren’t even open then. He loves working, but it does get exhausting working 45 hours a week, not including any over time he sometimes has to use to finish up any longer-than-usual surgeries or whatnot.

“Yeah, it’s pretty nice,” Marco agrees, and when he leans back against the couch his leg shifts, and his thigh brushes against Jean’s. He doesn’t move away or seem to even notice, so Jean just swallows and takes another drink, noticing his bottle is already almost empty.

“Sorry I keep making you come to my rescue on your days off,” Jean mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck, because Marco is a nice guy, and he’s probably just feeling a insane amount of pity for Jean and his lack of control over his life. Letting his pets get stuck in trees? Setting his leftover noodles on _fire_? Marco probably deals with a lot of dumbasses in his line of work, and Jean is probably near the top of his list.

“I wouldn’t have come over today if I didn’t want to,” Marco points out, raising an eyebrow. “Contrary to what you might think, I _like_ hanging out with you.”

Jean refrains from saying something along the lines of “ _You just wanted to make sure my house wasn’t engulfed in flames,”_ because Marco seems sincere enough, but Jean still finds it hard to believe.

They watch two more episode in relative silence, and when Baby bumps into Marco’s foot, causing him to jump a bit, he finally glances at the clock on the wall and heaves a content sigh.

“I should probably get going,” Marco says, standing up and stretching. Jean tries not to follow the line of his spine through his shirt, and fails significantly, averting his eyes as Marco continues, “Today is my last day off, and tomorrow I start my four days of overnight shifts, so I should get some sleep.”

“Yeah,” Jean says, clearing his throat and standing up as well, instinctively picking up Baby as she tries to climb up his pant leg again. Marco smiles at them both fondly, and Jean buries his nose in her small body in an attempt to cool down the heat gathering in his cheeks.

“I had fun, thanks for the pizza,” Marco says as he makes his way towards the front door, Jean following carefully behind him and twitching when Baby licks a scratchy tongue over his chin. He doesn’t respond, just nods silently, and Marco rubs the back of his own neck. “Text me whenever, yeah? I’d like to know what happens next in that show we were watching.”

“Persons of Interest,” Jean supplies quietly, trying to ignore the way his heart seems to be trying to burst out of his chest and flop uselessly on the wooden floor like a dead fish.

“Yeah,” Marco smiles, and with one last wave he walks out the door, closing it behind him, and Jean heaves out a deep, shaky breath as he looks down at Baby.

Her good eye is wide and curious as she stares up at him, offering a quiet mewl and tilting her head slightly, and Jean laughs a little hysterically, pressing her nose to his own.

“I’m fucked, aren’t I?”

Baby licks his nose in response, and when Jean looks up, Finlay is sitting in front of the window, watching as Marco pulls out of his driveway and speeds off. Finlay whines quietly when Marco’s car disappears down the street, and he lies down, resting his chin on the window sill as he eyes the street outside longingly.

Jean sighs again, scratching gently behind Baby’s ears. “Looks like we’re _all_ fucked.”


	2. Tied Up Like Two Ships

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean Kirschstein is a veterinarian. Marco Bodt is a firefighter. They meet under very….. _cliché_ circumstances, and Jean tries not to fall too hard, but Marco is the epitome of everything Jean never knew he wanted.
> 
> It turns out saving kittens from trees isn’t this firefighter’s only talent, and Jean learns the hard way that falling in love isn’t such a bad thing after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lots and lots and lots of kittens in this chapter. im so sorry there's so much fluff. also jean still being a dumb nerd in like-like.

After placing the last two patient folders back into his file cabinet, Jean types up a few last minute reports before shutting down his computer and heaving a breath, removing his glasses and tucking them into his desk drawer. He really only needs them for computer work and report reading, mostly, so he doesn’t like to wear them for anything else. He has a pair in his side table at home next to his bed that he’ll wear when he reads at night, but other than that he likes to pretend his eyes are 20/20 perfect. Glasses look good on some people, but Jean hates the way they make his face look.

He straightens out a few stray papers on his desk before standing up and stretching, eyeing the clock on the wall and removing his lab coat, hanging it on the hook on the back of his office door. He idly plucks his phone from his pocket to check it, and he chews on his bottom lip when he sees he has no new messages.

The ‘noodle night’, as Jean likes to refer to it as, happened about five days ago, and later that night Marco had texted him around 11pm, asking Jean if he was still doing okay after the fire scare. Jean tried not to feel exceptionally pathetic, because Marco texted him to _check up_ on him, as if Jean might’ve had another panic attack or, god forbid, had started another fire.

It still made Jean bite back a smile, and after sending a reply, falling asleep, and then waking up to a ‘ _have a good day at work!’_ from Marco, they had been exchanging texts back and forth.

Jean has learned about one of Marco’s coworkers, Reiner, who seems to get into a lot of shit but is genuinely a good guy and is exceptional at his job. Apparently he saved three kids from a basement fire a few months ago, started from their crazy pyro step mother. Jean’s curious as to what dangers Marco has faced, and he’s also curious as to what made him want to become a firefighter in the first place, but he saves those questions for another day.

He’s also learned that Marco has known Armin since high school, that they go way back, and Jean would’ve been convinced they were dating if Armin wasn’t already taken. The thought sends a weird pang through him, and he purses his lips, shaking his head as he shoves his phone back into his pocket.

“Jean!”

His door swings open right as he’s about to grab the handle, and Jean jumps back, surprised. Sasha barges in, a large box in her arms and a breathless, slightly panicked look on her face.

“Jean, _look_ ,” she exclaims, gently setting the box on Jean’s desk. It scatters a few papers to the floor, and Jean frowns.

“Sasha, what - ”

“Somebody just dropped this off in the lobby and then ran out! God, these poor _babies_.”

 _Babies_? Jean furrows his eyebrows, stepping over to his desk and reaching out, gently flipping a flap of the box out of the way, and when four pairs of wide, curious eyes stare up at him from the shadows in the box, he lets out a slow breath.

“ _Shit_.”

“I wonder where momma cat is?” Sasha muses, a sad frown on her face, and when she reaches in and picks up an orange kitten, it mewls quietly, tiredly, before burrowing against her chest. Sasha looks down at the kitten fondly, and Jean leans closer, estimating the age to be only about a few weeks old. Definitely too young to be able to survive on their own without proper care.

“They’re young,” Jean muses quietly, peeking back into the box. “Real young, Sasha.”

“Somebody is going to need to take them home and be their mommy,” she says wistfully, and she eyes Jean hopefully, and _no_ , no, Jean thinks, frowning at her. He has three animals already, he _can’t -_

“Connie’s apartment doesn’t allow animals and my roommate is allergic,” Sasha says offhandedly, carefully placing the kitten back into the box. “And you _are_ the expert, Jean.”

“I don’t have _time_ to - ”

The kittens inside the box interrupt him with a series of pitiful, hungry mewls, and when Jean peeks back into the box, he sees a black one struggling to its feet, wobbling precariously, legs shaky, and the kitten paws pitifully against the side of the box, tiny claws scratching the cardboard. Jean feels his heart clench, and he closes his eyes, letting out a defeated groan.

Sasha grins and claps him on the shoulder, reaching down to scratch gently at the orange kitten’s head before waltzing out of his office.

“You’ll be fine, mommy!”

“Don’t call me that,” Jean grumbles, but he rolls his eyes fondly as Sasha shoots him one last smile before walking out.

The kittens are mewling in earnest now, and Jean quickly runs across the hall to the lab cabinets, grabbing a few bottles and leftover kitten formula from the spare stash. He tucks them into his bag, slings it over his shoulder, and when he gently picks up the box of kittens, the black one on its feet wobbles and falls, legs splayed out, and Jean can _feel_ his heart strings pulling happily, and _shit_ , he’s going to have to fight the attachment he can feel coming on.

Next to attractive godly-built firemen with an abundance of freckles and life-saving, kittens are number two on his list of ‘Jean’s Top Weaknesses’, after all.

\--

He keeps a protective hand on the box in the passenger seat on his drive home, and when he pulls up into his driveway, the bumps of the uneven concrete make him wince when the kittens mewl in protest. They sound tired and cranky, and Jean knows he needs to feed them soon. He’s fostered kittens before, a few years ago when he was still in an apartment and on nurse duty, so he knows what to do, and he’s aware of the amount of attention they need, so at least he’s not clueless.

He reaches out and pats all of their heads fondly before opening his car door and sliding out, the box clutched close to his chest and bag slung back over his shoulder, full of bottles and milk formula. God, this must be what an actual mother must feel like, except Jean’s children are small and fuzzy and ultimately much less of a stress point than _actual_ children.

Jean doesn’t even want to _think_ of all the disasters that would happen if he was asked to look after _human_ babies.

“Hey, Jean!”

Jean jerks in surprise, almost dropping the box in his arms as he turns to see where the voice came from, slamming his car door shut with his hip.

His eyes widen when he sees a familiar freckled man, perched on the roof of Armin’s house next door, a smile on his face and hand waving enthusiastically. The beginning of the setting sun behind him causes a golden glow to surround him, and Jean swallows, clutching the box tighter as he shuffles across his lawn over to Armin’s.

He stops at the bottom of the ladder Marco used to climb to the roof, and Jean feels his own chest constrict in secondhand fear, because he and heights are _not_ friends.

“Hey,” Jean tries for casual, and he applauds himself when his voice doesn’t shake. “What - uh. What’re you doing?”

Marco wipes his brow with the back of his hand, his face tan and sweat-sheened. “There’s a few broken roof tiles up here. Armin’s really anal about that sort of stuff, and he asked me if I could fix them before Eren gets back from Europe.” He grins, and Jean bites his lip, clutching the box tighter. The kittens seem to like the still position, because they’ve curled up on each other and are dozing off, seemingly having forgotten their hunger for now.

“You’re a good friend,” Jean offers, smiling a little, and Marco chuckles from above.

“Hey, don’t worry, if your roof tiles ever shatter too, give me a call and I’ll be happy to fix ‘em.”

Jean could’ve sworn he saw a brief wink, but the sun _is_ in his eyes, and Marco’s pretty high up, so it was probably just a mistake. Whatever.

Jean clears his throat, shifting his grip on the box, and it’s then that Marco’s eyes stray down, getting a clear sight of the contents inside from his place perched on the roof, and his eyes go wide, curious just like the fucking kittens themselves.

“Are you holding a box of _kittens_?”

He says it breathlessly, almost in disbelief, and Jean nods slowly, eyes widening himself when Marco spins around and begins climbing down the ladder. He’s wearing a pair of gym shorts, hung low on his hips and just a tad too small because they hug his ass and thighs in a way no gym shorts actually should, and Jean feels his mouth go dry, stepping a few paces back as Marco hops off the last rung of the ladder and spins back around, eyes eager as he steps up into Jean’s space.

“Can I….” he starts, voice hopeful, and this close up, Jean can see the flecks of gold in his warm eyes. “Can I hold one?”

And really, how can Jean deny _that_?

He nods, biting his lip. “They’re sleepy, though, and I still need to feed them, so beware if they get a little nippy.”

Marco nods eagerly before carefully reaching into the box, extracting a sleepy kitten. Jean had inspected them briefly in his car, and out of the four, there are two orange ones (both female, but one has a large white splotch over her eye, so telling the two apart is fairly easy), a completely solid black one, also female, and a black one with splotches of brown and orange down its back, the only male.  Marco chooses that one, and the kitten lets out a wide yawn, it’s tiny sharp teeth baring themselves for a brief moment.

He holds the kitten close, just like he did when he got Baby out of the tree, and the kitten’s eyes almost immediately flutter back closed against the warmth of Marco’s chest. Marco runs a finger over his fragile body, and he rumbles with purrs, much to Marco’s delight.

“Did you adopt all of these?” Marco asks eventually, looking up at Jean.

Jean laughs slightly, ducking his head. “Nah. Some asshole abandoned them in front of the clinic and took off right as I was getting off work. I took them since I have the most experience to foster them until I can take them to be adopted.”

“Where’s the mom?” Marco asks, looking back down at the sleeping kitten in his arms.

Jean shrugs. “Dunno. She probably died giving birth and the owner didn’t want to deal with the responsibility of the babies.”

Marco hums in response, gives the kitten one last scritch behind the ear, and when he looks up again, he’s biting his lip on a smile, and Jean feels his throat clench dryly once again.

“You…” Marco starts, licking his lips, and Jean literally wants to _die_. “You said they needed to be fed still?”

Jean nods mutely, chewing on his lip once again, a nervous habit he picked up in high school, and Marco steps a fraction closer, eyes twinkling hopefully as he says, voice bright and face much, much too close for comfort,

“Can I help?”

\--

“It’s really easy, just watch me first, yeah?”

Marco nods, attentive and eager, as Jean reaches into the box to grab the orange kitten, who mewls brokenly at being disturbed of her slumber. She blinks slowly, and Jean adjusts his grip on her slightly, not too tight.

They’re both sitting on the floor in his living room, Marco sitting across from Jean and watching with rapt interest as Jean drapes a towel in his lap before bringing the orange kitten with the white splotch on her eye down into a half-standing position, a finger curled loosely around her neck.

“You don’t cradle them on their backs like human babies,” Jean says, reaching over to grab the bottle of formula he had already prepared and warmed. Just to be safe, though, he motions Marco to hold out his hand, palm up. Marco does without protest, and Jean drips a few droplets of formula onto the inside of his wrist. “How does it feel?”

“Warm,” Marco responds.

“Too warm, bordering on hot?”

“No,” Marco says, dabbing at the droplets with his finger. “It feels just a little above lukewarm?”

“Good,” Jean says, giving a small smile, and then he turns back to the wriggling kitten in his hand, hind legs propped on his thigh. “You want to hold them like this, in an upright position. And when you feed them, make sure you let _them_ reach for the bottle, stretching their neck out as if they were actually nursing.”

Marco nods idly, and Jean looks back down, bringing the bottle and squeezing a few drops onto the kitten’s lips to encourage her to feed. She responds willingly enough, and soon she’s scrabbling at the bottle with her front paws, tiny claws scratching along the top as she gulps down the formula eagerly.

Jean chances a small glance up at Marco, and he’s staring at him with such a fond intensity that Jean feels his cheeks heat up, and he clears his throat gently, the orange kitten in his grip draining the last bits of the bottle.

“See?” Jean says after he pulls the bottle away, his voice only a little but unsteady. “It’s easy.”

He gently places the orange kitten back into the box, and then Marco is scooting closer until his knees are almost touching Jean’s from their places sitting cross-legged in front of one another. “Can I feed one now?”

Jean bites his lip on a smile and nods, draping the towel in Marco’s lap and grabbing the second bottle that had been sitting in a bowl of warm water. He tests a few drops on his wrist again, and once he deems it an acceptable temperature he nods towards the box.

“Alright, take your pick.”

Marco immediately reaches for the speckled brown and black kitten, his small body wriggling before settling down once his hind legs touch Marco’s lap. Marco’s tongue peeks out slightly as he attempts to position the kitten into the same grip Jean had.

“Is this okay?” Marco asks, looking up at Jean for confirmation. Jean peeks closer, and then nods.

“Just make sure to keep your grip secure, but loose enough that they don’t feel trapped.”

Marco adjusts his hand one last time before grabbing the bottle Jean holds out for him, bringing it to the kitten’s mouth. His expression is determined and serious, and Jean ducks his head on a grin.

“I don’t think he wants to drink,” Marco says after a few moments of gently prodding the tip of the bottle at the animal in his hand. He sounds disappointed, and Jean laughs just a bit when Marco looks up with a defeated expression.

“Sometimes they’re reluctant. Squeeze a few drops onto his lips, that usually encourages them enough.”

Marco does as he’s told, and when he accidentally gets a few drops onto the kitten’s nose, the kitten sneezes, causing Marco to jump slightly in surprise, but soon a small pink tongue is darting out to lap up the formula, and the next time Marco brings the bottle to his lips, the kitten starts feeding right away.

Marco grins in delight, and _god_ , he’s like an excited child on Christmas, face alight with this happy glow that causes Jean to tighten his jaw slightly, trying to pay attention to the kitten in Marco’s lap instead of his face, open and bright.

“Hey,” Jean says after a few beats of silence, and when he reaches forward it’s unconscious, mechanical, and his fingers wrap around Marco’s on the bottle, gently pulling the bottle further away from the kitten’s mouth. “Make sure to keep the bottle at a good distance. You don’t want the kitten’s neck to crimp.”

Marco nods slowly, eyes flitting to to the bottle where Jean’s fingers are wrapped around Marco’s own, and it’s then that Jean realizes he _hasn’t let go yet._

He yanks his hand away quickly, bringing it up to rub the back of his neck that’s now burning up with a newfound blush, and stands up, grabbing the empty bottle from the previous kitten’s feeding.

“I’m gonna, um,” Jean says, nodding towards the kitchen. “Prepare the next bottle and stuff.”

Marco just smiles and nods, turning his gaze back towards the kitten in his lap, and Jean practically runs back to the kitchen, trying to will his heart beat back to a normal fucking pace because _fuck_ , he hasn’t felt butterflies like these since fucking high school when he accidentally brushed the hand of the girl he had a thing for as she was passing out worksheets.

He grabs the can of kitten formula from the fridge, opening a bottle and slowly pouring it in before taking it over to the sink and turning on the hot water. He runs the bottle under the warm water for a little bit until the milk is at a comfortable temperature, and he _really_ doesn’t want to go back into the living room because Marco probably noticed his dumb blush and thinks he’s some creepy guy with a thing for firefighters and kittens. Which, he guesses, he sort of _is_.

He takes a deep breath and walks back, and Marco is trying to keep a hold on the other orange kitten. She’s squirmy and hungry, mewling impatiently, and Marco looks up at him as he enters the room, a slightly eager look on his face as he tries to tame the kitten in his hands.

“I think this one is ready,” he says, laughing softly when the kitten mewls loudly.

Jean can’t help but smile as he walks over and hands the bottle to Marco, and as soon as Marco brings the bottle to her lips, she immediately starts gnawing and sucking on the tip happily, making tiny slurping noises that has Marco looking down at her fondly.

Jean swallows dryly.

It’s not like Jean’s strange for feeling this way, because _anyone_ would probably have a mild crush on an attractive man holding a litter of kittens. That’s just what this is. A stupid little crush that’ll eventually go away and Jean can continue on with his life without thinking about muscled arms and warm smiles as he’s touching himself at night.

They finish feeding the kittens, and after Jean has placed them safely in the bathroom, all four curled up tiredly on each other in the box, he walks back out, closing the door behind him softly. Marco is standing up from the floor, stretching his arms up from sitting hunched over, and Jean literally _forces_ himself not to look, averting his eyes and grabbing the empty bottles.

“Well, I should probably head home,” Marco says, running a hand through his hair.

Jean nods. “Yeah, uh. Thanks for helping me with the kittens.”

Finlay trots up to Marco, yawning from his nap as he paws at Marco’s leg happily. Marco reaches down a hand to scratch at his head, smiling at Jean.

“No, thank _you_ for letting me help.”

Jean scratches the back of his neck as he walks Marco to the front door, and when Marco walks out, waving a hand at him with a, “Goodnight, Jean!”, Jean tries not to think about how nice his name sounds coming from Marco’s mouth.

\--

Jean’s phone is practically glued to his hand the next few days, Marco avidly texting him whenever he’s free, asking how the kittens are doing like a damn mother hen. It’s sweet, and Jean can already tell Marco is attached.

It used to happen with him, too, when he first decided to become a vet. Strays would be brought in, fosters would be cared for, animals would need to be euthanized. Jean had a lot of trouble the first few months, because attachment for him comes very, very quickly. He’s trained himself now to try and ignore any heart strings being pulled when a dog about to be put down looks at him with wide, expectant eyes, or when a stray cat has to be taken to the adoption center down the road. He’s better about it now, and of course he cares and feels that soft spot in his gut clench occasionally, but it’s his job, and he’s okay with that.

When his phone vibrates again against his thigh, he can definitely tell Marco is not trained so well in the attachment department. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, though, Jean thinks as he swipes his phone screen to reply, a small smile on his face. Definitely not a bad thing.

The kittens are warm, snuggled up in a pile next to him on the couch, pressed against his thigh, and Baby is curled up in the gap between his legs, eyes sleepily trained on the pile of babies, almost protectively. They had just been fed a few minutes ago, so their bellies are full and their half-awake purrs are content.

Finlay’s on the floor at his feet, head resting on his paws, and Simon is sprawled out on the carpet next to the fireplace. Jean smiles, scritches at Baby’s head, and finally looks down at his phone to text Marco back, considering snapping a pic of his current animal-filled predicament because he has a feeling Marco would appreciate that.

He’s interrupted from his task when a loud clap of thunder startles the animals awake, and Jean gasps and winces when Baby digs her nails into his thigh. The kittens blearily blink their eyes open, and when a second booming crack of thunder shakes the house, they mewl pitifully and stumble as they try to crawl up Jean’s side, sharp tiny nails digging through his shirt and into his skin.

“Ow, ow, _shit_ ,” Jean mutters, prying the kittens off of him and placing them in his lap next to Baby, and he jumps when the couch dips next to him, Finlay giving a small whine as he flops down and noses at Jean’s hand.

Jean sighs.

Of course all of his pets would be terrified of storms. Jean looks over to the fireplace, sees Simon still languidly spread out, uncaring to the storm, and Jean smiles fondly. At least Simon seems okay. One less pet to comfort.

When the rain finally begins falling, heavy sheets coating the house and filling the former silence with the roar of the storm, Baby successfully climbs up his chest, perching on his shoulder and meowing loudly in his ear, claws anchored to his shirt. The kittens stumble around, not sure how to handle their anxiety over the weather, and Jean constantly has to pick them up and place them back in his lap so they don’t go falling off the couch and getting lost in the house.

He jumps when his phone starts ringing, and he digs into the couch cushions where it had fallen when the animals decided to freak out. The black and brown speckled kitten makes a jump for the side of the couch as Jean presses ‘answer’, a hand darting out just in time to catch him from tumbling to the carpet.

“Hello?” He hadn’t bothered to check the caller ID, so when Marco’s voice comes through the speakers, Jean almost drops the phone.

“Jean, hey!”

Baby meows again loudly in his other ear, and Jean winces, another clap of thunder causing the kittens to arch their backs again, shaking slightly. “Marco? Uh, hi.”

“Sorry to call so late, I just wanted to know how the kittens are handling the storm?”

Jean grits his teeth as he snatches one of the orange kittens from jumping onto Finlay’s head, because Finlay is shaking a little bit too, small whines escaping him as he attempts to become a lap dog while Jean already has his lap full. He counts to ten, lets out a deep breath before replying,

“Not so well.”

He can practically _hear_ Marco’s worried frown over the line, and Jean bites his lip on a smile.

“They’re kind of freaking out,” Jean says, trying to herd the four kittens back into his lap as Baby continues to assault his ear. “Baby and Finlay are freaking out too. I bet I have a shit ton of battle scars already. Kitten claws are strangely deadly.”

“Do you… I mean,” Marco clears his throat. “Do you want me to come over? Maybe I can help calm them down.”

Jean blinks, momentarily forgetting about the kittens in his lap until one tries to make a break for it again, because _shit_ , Marco wants to _come over to his house_. Again. Just to help him babysit his zoo of scared pets. It’s fucking sweet and unexpected and Jean wants to bury his face in his hands because he’s got it _bad_.

“Don’t you have work in the morning? It’s kind of late,” Jean says, swallowing.

“It’s fine! I’ll just come over until the storm subsides to help you calm everyone down.”

Jean doesn’t mention that the storm might be an all night thing, which he probably _should_ , but then Marco might not come over and Jean has this strange warm feeling in his gut right now, the thought of seeing Marco again making him grossly giddy and _seriously_ , when will these fucking stupid ass high school crush feelings get out of his head?

“Um,” Jean says, cheeks heating up. “Drive carefully, okay?”

Marco chuckles, and Jean licks his lips nervously at the warm, comforting sound.

“I’ll drive safe, I promise,” Marco says. “I’ll see you in a bit, okay?”

\--

“That _can’t_ be comfortable.”

Marco laughs, Jean’s face scrunched up in confusion and awe, though incredibly disturbed. “I don’t know, I’m pretty sure spinning your head completely around in a circle can’t be too painful, right?” Marco says, smiling again when Jean shivers.

“Why the hell are we watching this again?”

“Because,” Marco says pointedly, “You are seriously lacking in the classic movies department. I thought The Exorcist would be a perfect one to start off with.”

Jean makes a face when the little girl on screen starts spewing out disgusting, foul green puke. “This is _gross_. Who the fuck deemed this a _classic movie_?”

Marco just laughs again, running gentle fingers over one of the kittens whose curled up in his lap. Marco had arrived about half an hour ago, and after a few soothing comforts and coaxing, he and Jean had finally gotten the animals calmed down enough to settle down to sleep. Marco has two in his lap, one in the crook of his arm, and Finlay finally hopped off the couch to curl up at their feet. Jean has the fourth kitten stretched out over his thighs, and Baby has fallen asleep on Jean’s shoulder, pressed into the crook of his neck. It’s slightly uncomfortable because Jean doesn’t want to move and wake her, but somehow Marco has shifted close enough that their shoulders are pressed together, so Jean supposes it’s not _all_ that bad.

“Hopefully neither of us has to take a piss anytime soon,” Jean says, eyes flicking to the animals scattered all around - and _on_ \- them.

Marco smiles, softly, and says, “Yeah, it’d probably be a crime to move in this situation.”

When he looks back up at Jean, their eyes meet, and Jean swears his heart skips at least three beats, stuttering to the jittering rhythm his nerves are currently doing right now, and his fingers twitch when they brush against Marco’s thigh.

He still fucking hates the way Marco makes him feel, all restless and warm and uneasy all at the same time. He doesn’t _do_ this ‘crush’ shit. He goes to work, does what he loves, comes home, spends time with his pets - his _children_ , if Jean’s really going to be honest with himself - and goes to bed, content and relaxed. These disgusting flips and turns of his stomach whenever he sees a new text from Marco are pissing him off, especially now, because he’s pretty sure he’s never seen a more perfect shade of gold than in the flecks of Marco’s eyes and fuck, he can’t _breathe_.

He clears his throat, sucks in a welcome breath, but right as he opens his mouth to speak, the lights flicker, a loud _pop_ and another faint crack of thunder erupt, and then the room goes dark.

It’s quiet, the television having flickered off, and the only sound is the pitter patter of the rain outside, Finlay’s deep in-and-out breaths from the floor, and when Marco lets out a quiet chuckle, Jean jumps a bit in surprise.

“Well, shit,” Marco says, and Jean blinks his eyes, trying to adjust to the darkness. The outline of Marco’s face eventually becomes clear enough, and Jean sees his mouth crooked into a smile.

“Yeah,” Jean manages, and luckily the animals are still sleeping, warm and cozy and undisturbed.

“Guess we can’t exactly get up for candles or flashlights, huh?”

Jean finally lets himself grin, running a gentle hand along the stretched out kitten in his lap, one of the orange ones, and she yawns, stretching a bit before falling back asleep. “Hope the dark doesn’t bother you.”

“Nah, I’m good. You?”

“Totally chill.”

“You sure you’re good? That movie didn’t freak you out too much?” There’s a smirk in Marco’s voice, and his eyes have finally adjusted enough to see Marco’s face almost clearly.

Jean scoffs. “ _Please_. Those special effects looked like they were made using Windows Movie Maker.”

Marco laughs, shaking his head slightly, and when a rumble of thunder shakes the house again, Jean startles a bit in surprise. The kittens peek their eyes open at him blearily, annoyed, but they quickly fall back into slumber, and Jean breathes a quiet sigh of relief.

“You not fond of thunderstorms?” Marco asks, noticing Jean’s body tense up and then relax at the flash of lightning outside brightening up the room for a brief moment.

Jean purses his lips and shrugs. “I’m okay with them, just not used to it is all. I grew up down south, so all the rain up here is hard to take in.”

“Ah,” Marco says, nodding, and then they fall into a comfortable silence, listening to the rain and the even breaths around them, the animals warm on their laps and Jean’s eyes have finally adjusted completely to the darkness, so when he turns his head and sees Marco looking at him, completely unabashed, Jean coughs a bit and ducks his head down.

He hears a quiet chuckle, and when the television and lights flicker back on suddenly, Jean sucks in a sharp breath, wincing and blinking his eyes.

“Ow, too _bright_ ,” he whines quietly, and Marco laughs again, blinking quickly himself to get used to the light.

The television is playing some sort of infomercial, and Jean hates to admit that he’s a sucker for those. Late at night when he can’t sleep, his mind running on low fumes and sharp but lazy attentiveness, the Magic Bullet is his favorite last resort.

The infomercial playing currently is for some sort of universal Wonder Tupperware or some shit, and the enthusiastic middle aged woman on the screen is already drawing in Jean’s attention. He averts his eyes though, and glances at Marco, clearing his throat awkwardly as he says,

“Well, the thunderstorm has died down and the animals seem to be okay now. You can, uh. Leave now, if you want,” he says, and then, as a last minute breath of words, “Or stay. It’s whatever.”

Marco smiles at him, and Jean has to look away, pretending to be attentively focused on the orange kitten curled in his lap.

“I’ll stay for a bit,” Marco says, “If that’s okay? Because this tupperware lady really seems to know what she’s talking about and I’d love to see what else she has in store.”

Jean snorts out a laugh, looking back up and giving Marco a small smile, because holy shit, staying up late and cuddling with his animals while watching infomercials is basically in Jean’s handbook as The Perfect Date. All he needs now is Marco’s arm around his shoulder, their faces close enough to touch, breath warm on his face -

Jean swallows dryly and shakes the thoughts from his head, settling back into the couch, and letting out a slow breath as they watch the brightly colored containers on the screen, lids popping off, lids popping on, bottom wares being flipped and used as tops, and holy shit, they’re _collapsable_ for easy storage?

The sound seems to fade and get fuzzy, Jean not having noticed how tired he’s gotten, and his head lolls to the side without his consent, eyes fluttering shut as his temple presses against a warm, soft fabric, the warm scent of vanilla and rain washing over him before he passes out completely.

 

\--

 

_Jean (3:46 pm): im at home depot what kind of plants should i buy_

_Marco (3:51 pm): cactus. buy a cactus (:_

_Jean: (3:54 pm): marco im not planting a fucking cactus in my front yard_

Jean smiles and shakes his head at his phone, tucking it back in his back pocket as he scans his eyes over the different types of flowers, warm colors and cool colors, soft petals and sharp edges, there’s so many to choose from, and Jean is a little overwhelmed.

He runs his fingers along the velvet petals of an orange chrysanthemum, damp from just being misted by the sprinklers above, but passes it when his eyes land on a bunch of beautiful pink flowers, faint rose colored edges with a pale center, a yellow middle popping out starkly. They’re small and simple, almost fairytale like, and Jean looks at the paper tab stuck in the soil. _Pink Begonias._

He grabs a few pre-planted ones, sticking them in his basket, and when his phone vibrates in his pocket again, he has to stop himself from checking it in the middle of checking out so as not to be rude.

He and Marco have been texting pretty avidly, ever since the night of the thunderstorm. Marco left about an hour after Jean had passed out on his shoulder, carefully getting up and draping a blanket over a half-asleep Jean, who mumbled a slight protest. Jean only vaguely remembers, but he’s still not sure if he dreamed the hand brushing hair from his face or not.

Jean places the begonias carefully in his trunk, and drives slowly home so as not to knock them over. In all honesty, he’s never gardened a day in his life, but now that it’s nearing the end of spring, summer just around the corner, Armin’s own front lawn is looking more and more beautiful and Jean feels an emptiness when looking at his own barren lawn. He figures gardening can’t be _that_ hard, and he thinks there can’t be too many ways to fuck it up. He would have Marco help him, but Marco works today and has recently informed Jean he knows shit-all about gardening either.

The breeze is nice, even though the late afternoon sun is beating high up in the sky, causing prickles of sweat to bead up at the nape of Jean’s neck and across his forehead. He wipes his face with the back of his hand as he settles on the grass, the begonias sitting next to him still in their little cardboard boxes.

There’s no directions on them, and Jean squints at the dry, flat dirt in front of him. He has a nice little rectangle of area in front of his porch to plant the flowers, so the placement is already decided, now he just. Has to figure out how to get them in the ground.

He used to watch his mom garden and she would sometimes let him help, but he usually got bored after a while and went and ran through the sprinkles instead. He tries to remember what her steps were, what she would do and how she would do it, but the memories are blurry and his mind is drawing a blank.

He pushes a little bit at the dirt in front of him, and it’s slightly brittle, dry and caking under his fingernails already, and Jean sighs, leaning back and squinting at the begonias next to him.

The sound of footsteps shuffling towards him causes him to look up, and when he sees Armin standing above him, hands shoved in a pair of jean capris, the ends frayed and the knees stained green from the grass, Jean gives a small, embarrassed smile.

“Finally gonna add some color to your lawn?” Armin asks, squatting down to get a better look at the array of begonias. He reaches out and runs a finger along a petal, and Jean nods, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well, I’m _attempting_ to.” Jean purses his lips and glances back down at his barren dirt rectangle. “I don’t exactly have a green thumb, though.”

Armin stands back up, wiping the palms of his hands on his thighs, and he grins down at Jean, rocking back on the heels of his feet. “Need some help?”

Jean lets out a breathless laugh. “Well, if you’re offering I’m sure as hell not gonna turn down a little guidance.”

Armin looks positively excited, which makes Jean feel a little less guilty. Sunday is the only day Armin’s shop is closed, so it’s his only day off and here Jean is stealing him because he can’t plant his damn begonias. Armin’s face looks eager enough though, so Jean supposes if he’s at least enjoying himself, it’s okay.

“Lemme go get some stuff from my garage,” Armin says, already jogging back to his house.

Jean’s phone buzzes again, and when he shadows the screen with his hand to read it, he can’t help the quiet laugh that escapes him.

_Marco (4:43 pm): are your flowers planted yet like the good housewife you are?_

_Jean (4:44 pm): workin on it. ive acquired assistance from the neighbor._

_Marco (4:46pm): haha exploiting armin for his godly gardening abilities?_

_Jean (4:46pm): he offered!!! god i’m a shitty housewife i can’t even plant these dumb begonias  
                         by myself_

It’s a few minutes until Jean gets a response, but when his phone buzzes in his hand and he glances at the screen, he can’t help the dusting of pink that spreads across his cheeks at Marco’s response.

_Marco (4:52pm): well, if it’s any consolation, im sure you’d be a great housewife (:_

He doesn’t notice Armin has come back, so when a body plops down next to him on the grass, Jean fumbles to shove his phone back in his pocket. When he looks up, Armin is sort of giving him this knowing smile, and Jean wonders if Armin is really smart or if Jean’s just really transparent.

Both, probably.

“Here,” Armin says, dropping his supplies between them before handing Jean a pair of gardening gloves, and then proceeding to slip on a pair for himself. Armin’s hands are slightly smaller than his, so the spare gloves Jean is handed are a little tight, but he manages to squeeze his hands in, flexing his fingers.

There are three cardboard boxes of begonias Jean had picked up, and Armin sets them in a row next to him before grabbing a triangle shaped trowel, leaning forward and pushing some of the dirt around, running a gloved hand through it.

“Your soil’s pretty good. A little dry, but we’ll wet it after we add the flowers.”

Jean listens attentively, and when Armin grabs a half-full bag of fertilized soil, Jean bites his lip and says, “I’ll buy you more soil, since you’re helping me and giving me the rest of yours.”

Armin looks up and smiles at him, and he has a single dimple on the left side of his face that makes him look boyish and young, and Jean has a feeling he’ll be looking that way for a long time while everyone else ages around him.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” Armin says, pouring some soil over the dirt. “Now, take the trowel and sort of just blend it together. You can use your hands too, just get it in there real good so the flowers have some nutrients to start off with.”

Jean nods, and after watching Armin for a few minutes, the trowel is handed off to him and he tentatively begins himself.

It’s relaxing, in a way. The sun is hot, but just beginning to set, and Jean wipes his forehead on his arm quickly before getting back to work. He suddenly curses himself for not wearing an old pair of pants because he’s pretty sure he’s going to get grass stains.

“So, Eren’s going to be back in town next week,” Armin says after a while, crossing his legs and watching Jean closely.

Jean glances up, and Armin’s face is practically glowing, his excitement radiating off of him in waves. “That’s awesome,” Jean smiles, eyes averting back to the soil in front of him, sifting it through his gloved fingers. “How long has he been gone, again?”

“About three months,” Armin says, wistful and soft, but when Jean’s phone vibrates loudly in his back pocket again, his face morphs into that knowing look again.

Jean tries to fight the blush, because Marco is Armin’s _best friend_ , and here he is swooning over him like a dumbass and Armin _totally_ can tell. There’s no way he doesn’t know the amount of time Marco’s spent at his house, because first of all, Marco has probably told Armin himself, and second, they’re _neighbors_ , and Jean’s pretty sure Armin knows what Marco’s car looks like.

Armin holds his hand out for the trowel after a few moments of comfortable silence, and Jean hands it over, watching as Armin sets it aside before handing Jean one of the begonias, already removed from the cardboard box, soil packed into a neat square.

“This part’s easy,” Armin says, and he picks up a begonia himself. He proceeds to dig a shallow hole in the mixed soil Jean was working on, and then places the plant inside, using his other hand to scoop some soil to cover it and then packing it down loosely. He looks back up at Jean and smiles encouragingly. “See? Go ahead.”

Jean carefully works on settling his own begonia in next to Armin’s when his phone vibrates again, and he clears his throat unconsciously.

“I’m gonna be having a barbeque when Eren gets back next week. I’d love for you to come,” Armin pipes up as Jean’s packing down the soil, and then he grins, removing his gloves and shaking the dirt from them as Jean gets to work on the last begonia. “Marco’s gonna be there.”

He says it offhandedly, but Jean can hear the undertone of teasing there, slight but still present. He bites his lip, finishing up with the last flower, and tries to school his expression into something casual rather than really fucking embarrassed, because he can’t tell if Armin’s trying to actually set him up or if he’s just amused at the level of _complete fucking obviousness_ that’s practically radiating off of Jean.

“I’d love to come,” Jean says after he’s finished with the flower, and he removes his gloves and shakes the dirt off, copying Armin’s actions. He looks back up at Armin, and there’s a warm smile on the blonde’s face, friendly and open and Jean lets out a content breath. “Anything you need me to bring? Potato salad? Fruit plate? Dessert?”

Armin shakes his head, gathering up his supplies. “Nope. Eren’s an amazing cook, and it’s just a small little get together, so don’t worry. The food’s taken care of. You can bring your dog if you want to, though, since we’ll be in my backyard.”

Jean stands up after Armin, handing him the spare gloves. “Thanks again for helping me. I know it’s your day off, and I’m sure you weren’t planning on using it to help your incompetent neighbor plant his flowers.”

Armin laughs, tucking the leftover bag of soil under his arm. “It was my pleasure. The barbeque’s next Sunday, okay?”

Jean nods, thanking Armin again, and when Armin waves at him, that dumb knowing smile crossing his face as he watches Jean pull his phone out, Jean looks up and waves back meekly, biting his lip on a smile as he watches Armin disappear into his garage before shuffling back into his own house, already swiping his phone to answer Marco’s texts.

\--

“No - yeah, just mark down that I’ll be coming up next month,” Jean says, phone tucked between his shoulder and ear as he prepares the kittens’ food. He’s stacked some boxes near the entrance of the kitchen so they don’t escape, and they’re all currently having a grand time chasing each other around the tile floor, occasionally attempting to climb up Jean’s pant leg and causing him to almost drop the ceramic dish he’s currently taking over to the sink.

“Yeah, work’s going good,” Jean manages as he peels another kitten off of his thigh, setting her on the floor. “Simon’s good, yeah. Sleeps all day and all night, you know how he is.”

A loud _crash_ startles Jean, and he drops the can of soft kitten food he was currently spooning out onto the dish. He whips his head around and sees the tower of boxes he set up have all been knocked over, Finlay’s guilty eyes staring at him from the other side. Jean closes his eyes and switches his cell to his other ear as his mother drones on.

It’s then when he looks down and sees the kittens happily trampling through the spilled food, the soft squishy mess getting all over their paws and faces as they track it around the tile.

“Oh, _shit_ ,” Jean mutters, shooing Finlay out of the kitchen and setting up the boxes again. “Mom, I gotta go, sorry - yeah, that sounds good. I’ll talk to you later. Love you.”

Jean practically tosses his cell onto the counter as he squats down with a paper towel, wiping up the food while also trying to wipe down the kittens, but he already knows they’re going to need a bath. They don’t have a mother to lick them clean anymore, and they’re still too young to get a thorough job done, not quite flexible and balanced enough to clean themselves.

“Damn it, guys,” Jean sighs, plopping down on the floor in defeat as the kittens and their food-covered bodies happily lick at each other, hopping around Jean.

He heaves a breath, standing up and wiping his hands on the back of his sweats before glancing at the clock. 7:00pm. He’s been home no more than an hour.

It’s a sort of last minute thought, because he knows he should get them bathed soon before the food dries and gets caked in their fur, but for some reason he finds himself reaching for his phone, thumbing up to Marco’s contact name and pressing call.

He’s gotten increasingly more comfortable talking with Marco, and though he hasn’t seen him since the night of the thunderstorm, Jean had snapped him a pic of his finished begonias on Sunday before heading inside and Marco had responded with some sort of dumb joke about Better Homes and Gardens magazine that had Jean shaking his head and biting his lip on a smile, which seems to happen a lot with Marco.

Jean will send him dumb texts during his lunch break at work, and when Marco responds with a resounding sarcastic comment, Jean will grin down at his phone. And when Connie teases him relentlessly, Jean usually doesn’t feel too bad when he throws his plastic fork at him across the table.

The phone rings twice before Marco answers, and Jean doesn’t stall in getting right to the point.

“So, I did a dumb thing and now the kittens are covered in gross mushy food and they need a bath,” Jean sucks in a breath, smiling when he hears Marco laughing on the other end of the line. “Wanna help?”

“Do I _want_ to know what happened?”

“Um,” Jean starts, glancing at the precariously leaning tower of boxes in the kitchen foyer. “No?”

Marco laughs again. “You’re lucky, I just started my break cycle so I’m off the next four days. I’ll be there in a little bit.”

\--

Jean knows he’s going to have a nice array of battle scars all up his arms after this, and he winces as the black spotted kitten mewls pitifully and loud, attempting to climb out of the sink and up his arm.

Marco pries the kitten off, cooing at it softly and running a thumb over his head gently, and the kitten still squirms a bit, but not as violently as before, and Jean lets out a breath of relief, eyeing Marco at his side. Their shoulders are pressed together, Marco soaping up the kitten while Jean fills up a cup of warm water to wash away the suds, and Marco is warm against his side. He smells like something sweet with a hint of musk, probably some sort of faint cologne that Jean can’t place, and he hates himself for discreetly trying to inhale deeper.

“You’re really good with them,” Jean comments as Marco hums calmy at the kitten, getting him to cooperate long enough that Jean can rinse him off carefully. Marco flashes him a grin, gives a small “thanks,” before lifting the kitten out of the water so Jean can wrap him in a towel.

Jean’s not expecting Marco to lean down and kiss the top of the kitten’s head, and he swallows as Marco’s hair brushes his chin. His shampoo smells like coconuts, and Jean can feel the heat creep up his neck. It’s gone as soon as it came, though, and Jean’s quickly turning around to place the damp kitten onto the kitchen floor before snatching up one of the orange ones.

They work in silence mostly, aside from Marco’s soft reassurances and comforting words as he talks to the kittens quietly, and Jean doesn’t know how he does it, but he makes them calmer. Less terrified of the water, and his voice is liquid and warm and soothing, and Jean finds himself wanting to listen to Marco talk for hours, about anything at all, just to hear his voice some more.

Jean can feel Marco’s warmth next to him, their shoulders still touching because the kitchen sink is a pretty good size, but it’s not huge, so in order for them to work efficiently they basically have to press their entire sides against each other. Jean’s not really opposed to this, and he finishes rinsing off the kitten currently getting bathed, picking her up and wrapping her in a towel, but when he turns back to Marco, he’s not expecting him to be so _close_.

Jean blinks and swallows, and Marco gives him a small smile, leaning in, and _fuck_ , this is it, this is -

Marco ducks down and presses a kiss to the kitten’s head, and Jean feels his face heat up because why would he _ever_ think Marco would kiss him? Oh god, he needs to get these ridiculous fucking thoughts out of his head. His stomach feels like it’s turning over and over, knotting and twisting, and his throat feels like it’s closing up, and _god_ , he wants to kiss Marco so fucking bad.

He distracts himself by ducking his head and wiping his damp hands off after setting the kitten on the floor, and when Marco steps away, kneeling down to scritch at the still slightly-damp heads of the kittens, Jean lets out a quiet breath. He turns towards the sink and pulls the plug, draining and small amount of water and turning on the faucet to rinse away any stray soap bubbles.

“So, are you going to the barbeque on Sunday at Armin’s?” Marco says, breaking the silence. He stands up straight, eyes fond as he watches the kittens rolls all over each other playfully.

“Uh, yeah,” Jean says, wiping his hands on a towel just for something to do, fidgeting slightly. “Armin says you’re going, too?”

Marco nods, leaning back against the small island counter in the middle of the kitchen, facing Jean, and when he leans back on the palms over his hands, his shirt hitches up just enough that Jean gets a view of tan skin, a peek of dark hair trailing down into Marco’s jeans.

Jean clears his throat and busies himself with folding the towel, and when Marco reaches a leg out to nudge Jean’s foot with his own socked one, Jean sucks in a breath, eyes darting upwards to come face to face with that dumb sunshine smile, and Jean feels butterflies fluttering their way up his throat. He’s afraid to speak, afraid to open his mouth lest something along the lines of, “ _Hey, it’d be really cool to stick my tongue down your throa_ t,” or, “ _Please fuck me against a wall,_ ” slip past his lips.

He flushes at the thoughts that run through his head, but Marco doesn’t seem to notice, luckily.

“So,” Marco says, biting his lip and nudging Jean’s foot again softly. “I’m kinda dying to know what happens next on that crime show you showed me. Persons of Interest.”

Jean licks his lips nervously. “We, uh. We actually got all caught up. The next episode doesn’t come out until next week, so.”

“Oh,” Marco says, pursing his lips. “Well, do you have any other shows you think I need to watch? I’m not much of a TV person, but I think you got me hooked.”

Jean picks at a loose string fraying at the hem of his sweater, and he offers Marco a small smile as he says, “You ever seen Teen Wolf?”

Marco’s grin widens as he shakes his head, and when they settle down against the couch, shoulders pressed warm and comforting against one another, the kittens napping in a pile on the floor next to Finlay and Simon, Baby curled up in Jean’s lap, Jean has to will himself not to reach out and link his fingers with the firefighter sitting next to him.


	3. Be With Me, So Happily

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow. wow it's finished. it's finally dONE HOly shit. i'm sorry for the fuckin like. long ass delay omg i had horrible writers block. this is the longest fic i've ever written??? wow. im in shock omfg. 
> 
> thank you so much if you've stuck with me for this thing okay. i know 30k words doesn't seem like a whole lot? but it's a lot for me. i'm the queen of oneshots cause my attention span sucKS. but im really proud that i was able to finish something of this length ahhhh. 
> 
> ANYWAYS. TIME FOR THE MOST IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE. 
> 
> my best best fucking friend. tumblr user sweggscellent. she is the reason i finished this fic. this if for her okay. she helped me sooo soso much. she's my fabulous beta/cheerleader/princess and I couldn't have done it without her. she planted this idea in my head IT WAS HER IDEA IN THE FIRST PLACE so if it wasnt for her, this fic wouldn't exist. i love u woobie <3
> 
> also, this last chapter is dedicated to tumblr user lostlegendaerie because they are a SWEETHEART. they are a fantastic writer, and tbh their encouragement helped me finish this thing also. thank you sweetie <3
> 
> so yeah. i hope you enjoy this final part 8) and thank you to everyone who's been reading this and for all of the nice comments and kudos. you are all Fantasic. 
> 
> (also, i have a [tumblr!](http://crunchrapsupreme.tumblr.com)

Even though Armin told him he didn’t have to bring anything, Jean tosses together a quick homemade potato salad recipe his mom had taught him before he moved out. He figures potato salad and barbeques are like peanut butter and jelly, and even though he’s not the best cook in the world, he at least knows how to make this.

He tastes it to make sure it’s decent, and when it proves adequate he covers the bowl with some aluminum foil before pocketing his keys, whistling at Finlay to follow him, and then making his way out the door with his dog in tow. He trusts Finlay not to bolt down the street, so he doesn’t bother with a leash, and he reaches down and scratches behind his ears when he obediently follows him all the way to Armin’s front door.

Right as he’s lifting his hand to knock, a breathless, excited, “Jean!” causes him to turn his head, backing up a bit off of the front porch to see Armin leaning over the fenced gate of his backyard.

“C’mon, Eren’s in the back, I wanna introduce you!” he says, grinning and unlocking the gate to let Jean inside. Finlay bounces up to Armin excitedly, tail wagging happily when Armin reaches down to pet him before shutting the gate behind Jean. He places a hand on Jean’s shoulder and steers him towards the backyard, where a table and chairs are set up, and a grill, where a lean, brown-haired boy is busy flipping burgers.

When Jean turns to look back at Armin and sees the soft, glowing adoration in his eyes, Jean already knows who this boy must be.

“Eren!” Armin calls out, waving. “Eren, come over here! I want you to meet my neighbor, Jean!”

Eren looks up, rolls his eyes and says, “Alright, hold on. Let me take these off the grill.”

Jean shuffles awkwardly with his potato salad clutched in his arms, and eventually he turns and says, “Uh, where... should I put this?”

Armin glances down, peeks under the aluminum foil before grinning thankfully at Jean. “I know I told you not to bring anything, but who the hell can have a barbeque without potato salad, right?” He nods over to the table, where a stack of paper plates, napkins, cups, and other things are already arranged. “Go ahead and put it on the table over there.”

Jean nods and walks over, eyes straying to Finlay who’s hopping around in the grass, bolting here and there, chasing bugs and occasionally bumping into Armin’s legs. The blonde just laughs and stumbles a bit, eyes bright, and Jean doesn’t think he’s ever seen Armin this happy. Eren being back must be really refreshing. Not seeing the person you love for months on end sounds like fucking hell, and Jean doesn’t really know how Armin does it.

He watches Armin walk up to Eren at the grill, grinning at him and tilting his chin up as Eren smiles back, darting down to kiss him chastely on the lips before removing the last burger from the grill. Both of them seem to be lost in each other, and Jean hopes to god he’s not that transparent when it comes to the way he looks at Marco. He has a feeling that he is, anyways, with the way Armin seems to know he’s head over heels for his firefighter friend already.

Jean’s lucky Marco’s oblivious as hell.

“Jean,” Armin says, catching his attention, and his hand is gripping Eren’s elbow, guiding him over to the table and chairs where Jean’s currently awkwardly standing. “This is Eren. Eren, this is my neighbor Jean.”

“The animal guy?” Eren asks, squinting at Jean, and Jean clears his throat and purses his lips.

“Veterinarian, actually.”

“Yeah,” Eren says carefully, and he crosses his arms as if he’s judging Jean, eyes narrowed, and Armin rolls his eyes after a few moments, nudging Eren in the ribs.

“Be _nice_.”

Eren wraps an arm around his waist, tugging Armin close and giving Jean a skeptical look, and _oh_ , Jean thinks. Oh. Eren thinks Jean’s fucking _competition_ or something. The attractive friendly neighbor who steals away his boyfriend while he’s overseas.

Jean wants to laugh, because he couldn’t be farther from the truth. Stealing away his boyfriend? More like stealing away his boyfriend’s _best friend_.

Jean blinks and feels heat creep up his neck at his stupid thoughts, because he’s not going to be stealing anybody from anyone. He couldn’t if he tried, and he’s okay with that. He’s perfectly _fucking fine_ with that.

Eren opens his mouth to say something, but he’s interrupted when Armin breaks free from his hold, bounding over to the fence where Marco is now entering, and he laughs when Armin wraps him up in a hug.

“Hey, be careful!” Marco says, holding a large tupperware container up over Armin’s head as the blonde extracts himself, eyeing him curiously.

“I should reprimand you and Jean for bringing food after I told you not to, but if those are what I think they are, then you’re forgiven.”

Jean blinks, confused, and when Armin and Marco make their way over, Armin makes grabby hands for the container. Marco chuckles a bit, but hands it over, and Jean tries to pay attention to the ground and not the way that Marco’s hair looks ruffled and slightly messy, as if he was rushing to get here on time.

The container pops open, and Armin lets out an eager noise as he shoves the container over to Jean. “This is why I’m friends with Marco,” he says, grinning. “Because he makes the greatest, most heavenly fucking peanut butter bars _ever_.”

Jean’s slightly startled, because he’s never really heard Armin curse before. He supposed if a peanut butter bar recipe can make Armin swear, they must be pretty damn good. When he looks over at Marco, the boy is blushing, rubbing the back of his neck, and Jean’s heart somersaults in his chest.

“C’mon, they aren’t _that_ great,” Marco manages, biting his lip on a grin, and Jean’s not sure if he’ll be able to make it through this barbeque in one piece if Marco keeps _doing_ shit like that.

Armin just shakes his head, putting the lid back on before setting it on the table next to Jean’s potato salad. “I think the burgers are done,” he says, and then turns to Eren, “Want me to help you carry the food and stuff over?”

Eren smiles softly at him, placing a hand on Armin’s lower back as he nods and they head over to the grill. Jean watches as Eren leans down, whispers something in Armin’s ear that has the shorter boy laughing and shoving Eren gently, but Eren is quick to pull him back, an arm around his waist and eyes practically oozing affection. It’s sickening in a really, really sweet way, and Jean jumps a bit when Marco bumps his shoulder softly with his own.

“They’re really in love, aren’t they?”

Jean glances at Marco, sees him watching Eren and Armin fondly, and his heart is suddenly bumping in his chest so hard he’s surprised Marco can’t hear it.

“Yeah,” Jean replies after a few moments, voice quiet, eyes still locked on Marco next to him, the way his eyelashes brush his cheeks when he blinks, the way his lip quirks up in a smile, the brown-orange splatters of freckles across his cheeks and nose. “Yeah, they really are.”

Marco looks at him finally, and when their eyes meet, Jean tries to will his blush down. He can feel the heat creeping up his neck, and he swallows, turning quickly and shoving his hands in his pockets as he watches Finlay trot over and nudge Eren in the leg.

Eren looks down, scratches Finlay behind the ear, and he watches as Armin crouches down, laughing as Finlay licks his face eagerly, almost knocking him over with the force. Jean’s eyes stray up to Eren’s face, his bright green eyes warm with fondness, and Jean imagines the hundreds of Skype calls he and Armin probably shared during the trips Eren took for work. He imagines Armin lying on his side, night time here and day time wherever the hell Eren is at. He imagines Armin falling asleep with his laptop balanced on his pillow, Eren’s voice soft and soothing. He imagines Eren staying on cam just to watch Armin sleep for a few more minutes before finally ending the call.

Jean thinks of Marco, and though he’s not thousands of miles away and he probably never will be, he still thinks about the warm pools of Marco’s eyes looking at him like Eren looks at Armin.

He shakes the thought away as he spots Eren and Armin finally making their way back over, Finlay trotting behind them, and the smell of burgers makes Jean’s stomach growl loudly. Marco glances at him and chuckles, and Jean purses his lips and shoves him gently. It feels natural, and when Marco gently shoves him back, his body heats up under his touch.

They all sit at the small table that’s been set up, and Armin passes out paper plates to everyone. Eren comes out of the house juggling four bottles of beer, and Marco quickly stands up to help him hand them out before he drops them and shatters the bottles all over the porch. Eren looks like he’d be the clumsy type, and Jean’s slightly curious as to how he managed to land a job in something as tedious as archaeology.

“So,” Armin says, taking a swig of his own beer as Eren slaps come burgers onto everyone’s plates. “How’s the hero life treating you, Marco?”

Marco rolls his eyes. “I’m not a hero. I’m just doing my job.”

“Nah,” Eren pipes up, grinning, and Jean can’t help but think he looks at lot less intimidating and brooding when he’s smiling like that, bright and warm. “You’re a hero, dude.”

Marco just waves them off, and when he glances at Jean, Jean raises an eyebrow, because Marco _did_ save his cat from a tree, and he _did_ save Jean from burning his house down with his fucking noodles. Marco is pretty much a hero. He’s fucking _humble_ too, which makes him even _more_ perfect.

Jean smacks his bun on top of his burger, trying to quell the thoughts again, and he jumps when Marco nudges him.

“You’re a hero too, then,” he says, nodding in finality. “You save animals’ lives every day.”

Jean flushes hotly. “Not _every_ day.”

Armin laughs and reaches over to grab a spoonful of Jean’s potato salad, depositing it on his plate before pushing the bowl towards Eren. The boy reaches out to Armin’s plate though, snatching a forkful of the blonde’s portion before taking a bite. His eyes widen, and he hums in approval.

“This is fucking great,” he mumbles around a mouthful, swallowing after a few moments. He gestures to Jean with his fork. “You make this?”

“Yeah,” Jean says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Mom’s recipe.”

Eren nods solemnly, as if he’s understanding some great secret, and Jean just rolls his eyes, taking a bite of his own burger. And damn, that’s good too. Eren _is_ a good cook, holy shit. Armin must see Jean’s look of approval, and he looks proud, grinning sideways at Eren, and god, they _are_ so in love. It’s cute, and Jean really respects that they’re strong enough to keep up with the distance. Jean’s not sure he’d ever be able to handle something like that.

Conversation flows easily, good food and good company causing a strange sort of warmth to fill Jean’s body, and he looks around the table, sees Marco laughing at something Eren said, Armin choking on his beer and causing Marco to laugh harder, Eren snorting as he pats Armin on the back before kissing him on the temple.

Finlay barks at something, Marco grins sideways at Jean, and the sunlight hits his hair like a halo. The warmth in Jean’s body increases, and this time it’s not from his newfound friends surrounding him, not from the casual conversation and delicious food. This time, it’s from the way Marco’s looking at him, comfortable and content, and Jean smiles back, easy, and things feel right in this moment.

When Jean looks back at Armin and Eren, Armin’s in the middle of some elaborate story, waving his hands around, eyes bright, and yeah. Things feel right.

\--

Jean doesn’t notice it when he first wakes up. The only thing he’s aware of is the desert currently happening in his mouth. It’s dry as sandpaper, and Jean groans quietly as he rolls out of bed, nearly kneeing Finlay in the head but luckily missing by just a fraction.

He doesn’t notice it when he pads downstairs to the kitchen, filling up a glass with tap water and downing it in three gulps. He takes a breath, fills up the glass once more, and drinks it slower this time, letting the liquid seep into his taste buds and quench his throat.

He doesn’t notice it as he’s placing the glass in the sink, licking his lips and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before beginning his trek back upstairs.

It’s only halfway up the stairs that the thought crosses his mind, unimportant and vague but still unsettling. Simon wasn’t in his usual place curled around Jean’s head. There was a cold space on the area of pillow above him, his hair left unmussed from Simon’s heavy weight, and it’s then that Jean trudges up the last few steps and sees a furry bundle curled up underneath the small, short wallside table that Jean keeps a few candles and picture frames on.

It takes him a second to process, but as a vet, he’s suddenly acutely aware of the image that flashes behind his eyes. He’s taken back to medical school, studying for some dumb test he doesn’t remember the topic of, and his tired eyes are skimming the textbook in front of him.

_Cats seem to have the ability to know that they are going to die. A sick cat will often begin seeking out places that are comfortable to them; small, dark spaces where they can safely and contently rest, as they know they are dying._

Jean’s on his knees, ignoring the sharp pain that shoots up his legs from the hardwood floors, and he’s curving his back over, hunching down until he can gently scoot Simon out from under the table.

“Simon,” Jean says quietly, voice strained, lifting Simon into his arms. Simon’s eyes are closed, but Jean presses a gentle hand to his stomach. He’s breathing, but it’s shallow and bare, and _god_ this is so fucking sudden. He was completely fine yesterday, doing his normal routine of lazily batting at Baby and lounging around the house, purring insistently as Jean poured his food before flopping back to sleep. He procured no symptoms of any sort of illness or otherwise unusual behavior.

Jean racks his brain, goes through the motions as if he were trying to determine the solution to any other patient’s cat, but his mind is sort of in a panic mode, and it’s hard to think, hard to breathe, and his face feels warm as he stands up with Simon clutched closely but gently to his chest. Simon’s not trembling, he’s not vomiting or coughing, and Jean squeezes his eyes shut, taking a deep breath before padding down the stairs.

“Fuck, _fuck_ ,” he rasps, “Fucking _think,_ Kirschstein.”

He’s grabbing his keys off the kitchen counter, slipping on a pair of flip flops that are strewn next to the couch. He’s technically not allowed to go into the office this late, but his disobedience and ignorance of the rules is the last thing on Jean’s mind right now. He finds himself feeling as if he’s moving in slow motion, and his pajama pants swish against the carpet, almost tripping him, but he gasps and rights himself, keys clutched tight enough in his hand to turn his knuckles white.

Simon takes a heavy, soft breath, and goes still.

Jean swallows, his car keys dropping onto the carpet with a soft _thump_.

##  _Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy._

“Heart disease,” Jean rasps quietly, swallowing again and sinking to the carpet, sitting down and cradling Simon in his arms. Jean’s eyes are wide, unblinking.

_The most frequent cause of spontaneous death in indoor adult cats._

Jean’s seen it before, many, many times. It’s a scary, tragic, but common case he gets at work. Owners will come in, tears in their eyes with an already-limp cat in their arms, and Jean will usually only need to do a quick x-ray to determine an inflation of the heart, the decrease of the blood pumping through the animal’s veins, and the solution to the sudden, unpredicted death. It happens in cats as young as kittens and as old as ten years plus.

Though the cat usually isn’t in too much pain and the death is quick, it’s probably the worst case to happen in felines because most owners have no warning and don’t even get to say goodbye, instead waking up and suddenly finding their baby curled up in infinite slumber.

At least Jean got spend spend his last moments holding Simon close, giving him his warmth, keeping him company.

Though it hasn’t quite sunk in yet, Jean can feel his breathing slowing down, his heart thumping out of rhythm, Simon’s body beginning to go lax in his arms. The moonlight shines through the blinds of the windows, painting the living room in a soft, horizontal-lined haze, and Jean lets his thumb smooth over Simon’s forehead, finally standing up and shuffling over to the couch, carefully laying Simon’s body down and draping a blanket over him.

He doesn’t really remember making his way up to his room. He doesn’t remember grabbing his phone off of his nightstand and he doesn’t remember dialing up Marco, so the sleepy, surprised “Jean?” in his ear makes him jump.

“Um. Marco, hi.”

“Jean, it’s like - it’s three in the morning.” Marco’s words are murmured and quiet, but not annoyed. Just curious.

“I’m sorry,” Jean says softly, and then, “Can you come over?”

There’s a shuffling sound, probably Marco sitting up in bed, and then a careful, “Jean, are you okay?”

“Not particularly,” Jean manages, keeping his voice surprisingly steady. “I’m just - I’m sorry. Nevermind, shit, I’m sorry. Go back to sleep, I’m fine--”

“Hey, it’s alright,” Marco says, sounding more awake now, and there’s the soft _thud_ of his feet hitting the floor, and the hurried sound of footsteps over the line. “I’ll be there soon.”

Jean swallows. “Thanks.”

“It’s no problem,” Marco says, “Do you want to stay on the phone with me until I get there?”

“No - um, no. I’m fine,” Jean mumbles, and then he hangs up and takes a deep, slow breath. He has to - shit, he has to call his parents tomorrow. He has to figure out where he wants to bury him. Or maybe he should get him cremated, or maybe he should just - fuck, maybe he should let his parents decide, he doesn’t fucking _know_.

Jean grabs two fistfuls of his hair, tugs sharp enough to hurt, but he feels inexplicably calm. There’s a weight on his bones and a weight curling itself around his lungs, and he feels a little light headed, and he wonders briefly if he’s having a panic attack. But he doesn’t _feel_ panicky. He feels kind of numb, like he’s not all here, and the moonlight streaming through his windows barely seeps into the lids of his closed eyes.

A soft knock on his door makes Jean’s eyes snap open, and he doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting here, on the floor of his bedroom in his pajamas with his phone clutched in his hand loosely, but he can’t bring himself to calculate that at the moment. He makes his way downstairs, and when he opens the front door, Marco’s quickly shuffling inside, toeing the door closed behind him before shoving his car keys in his pocket and stepping a fraction closer to Jean.

“Is everything okay? You sounded… a little _off_ , on the phone.”

“Simon’s dead,” Jean says.

Marco blinks, and his hands twitch as if he wants to reach out. “Jean--”

“Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy,” Jean cuts him off, and Marco looks confused, so Jean continues, stumbling over his words slightly, “Heart disease. It’s, um. The most frequent cause of death - I mean, spontaneous. Spontaneous d-death in cats. Indoor cats, a-and--”

It suddenly feels like there’s molasses sliding down his throat, coating his windpipe and pooling warm and heavy and uncomfortable in his lungs, making it hard to breathe, and he rasps out a quiet breath, opens his mouth and tries to continue, but he can’t _breathe_ , and he makes a soft noise, hugging himself and digging his nails into his own skin.

A hand on his shoulder makes him jump, and Marco’s voice sounds faint but familiar.

“Hey,” the taller boy says, stepping closer, digging his fingers into Jean’s shoulder, grounding him. “ _Breathe_.”

“I _can’t_ ,” Jean wheezes, and suddenly the room fogs up, warmth dripping down his cheeks, and it’s then he realizes that he’s _crying_ ; fat, salty streams of tears dripping off of his face and littering the carpet. His knees buckle, and if not for Marco tugging him forward into a hug, he’s sure he would’ve collapsed onto the floor.

Jean’s still hugging himself, but Marco’s arm wraps around his waist, the other bending up so he can cradle the back of Jean’s head, weaving his fingers in Jean’s hair. Jean’s nose and cheek are smushed into the space where Marco’s shoulder meets his neck, and he smells like charcoal and lavender. A soothing hand rubs circles into his back, and Jean’s limbs feel heavy, his head throbbing, and the pathetic wheezing noises falling from his lips sound unreal and far away.

“Shhh, Jean, you’re okay,” Marco whispers, his breath ghosting over Jean’s ear. 

_The garden_. Jean thinks, closing his eyes and sniffling, finally unwinding his arms from his own body to wrap around Marco’s middle, the brunette’s body solid and warm against his own. _I’m going to bury him in the garden. Right underneath the begonias._

“I’m sorry,” Jean finally manages, suddenly remembering Marco’s work schedule. “You have work at seven in the morning, don’t you? Oh god, I’m s-sorry, I didn’t--”

“ _Jean_ ,” Marco interrupts, finally pulling back and looking Jean in the eyes. The boy’s face is red, and his eyes are still watery, his cheeks still wet with tears, and Marco brings his hands up, brushes away the trails of wetness with his thumbs. “It’s fine. I’m glad you called me.”

And then he’s turning Jean around and steering him towards the stairs. “C’mon, you need to rest.”

The mattress sinks under his weight, and the covers are soon pulled up his chin. He curls up into himself unconsciously, and Finlay stirs a bit from where he was still sleeping on the end of the bed. Baby usually alternates between sleeping on Jean’s chest and sleeping in the warm softness of Finlay’s belly, and tonight she’s choosing the latter. Jean’s heart swells at the sight just slightly, and he darts a hand out, fingers circling Marco’s wrist when Marco sits down on the edge of the mattress next to Jean.

“M’not going anywhere,” Marco says, settling a little more comfortably next to Jean, sitting up against the headboard. Jean loosens his hold on Marco’s wrist, presses his face into the side of Marco’s thigh. Breathes.

He wants to thank Marco again. He wants to be embarrassed by his sudden neediness and gross face, puffy and red from crying. He wants to hate the feeling of wanting to climb into Marco’s lap and wrap as tight around him as he can. He wants to forget the feeling of Marco cradling the back of his head and holding him close, gently but firm at the same time, like Jean was something fragile, something to be taken seriously, but still strong. Marco presses against him with purpose, but Jean’s eyes are drooping shut before he can think of anything more, and then he’s falling asleep to the steady beat of Marco’s pulse thumping softly beneath Jean’s thumb, pressed into the center of Marco’s wrist.

\--

Most sane people probably wouldn’t go anywhere the next day after a close death. Most people would probably feel the need to grieve, feel the need to healthily handle the pain and tightness in their throats and ribs. Jean knows he should take time. At least he’s _aware_ of that fact, but he can’t miss work, he _can’t_. What if someone else’s animal is close to passing? What if he can save them?

Fortunately, his day is just filled with a few rabies shots, some spays and neuters, and a few general check ups. It keeps his mind clear, keeps his thoughts away from what he’s trying so hard to avoid, and he knows he needs to let himself feel. Sure, he did enough fucking _feeling_ last night, and that’s _another_ thing he doesn’t want to think about. He let Marco see his dumb fucking tears, his gross, disgusting, snotty sobbing. He’s embarrassed, and he knows he shouldn’t be, but for some reason he can’t get rid of the sick, squirming feeling inside of his stomach. It’s sort of vague and foggy, the memory of last night. He doesn’t remember dialing Marco, and it scares him that Marco is the first person he decided to call. He doesn’t exactly know what that means, but he sure as hell has a few guesses. And that also scares him to death.

When Jean tells Connie, it’s curt and short. Connie’s eyes go dim, and he claps Jean on the back, asks if he wants to talk about it. Jean shakes his head, and that’s that. Connie’s really good about that stuff, always giving Jean his space when he needs it, and Connie just nods and says,

“I’ll be here if you change your mind, okay?”

Jean swallows down the lump in his throat, and jerks a quick nod of his head, turning around and walking back to his office.

He doesn’t tell Sasha, and Connie’s smart enough not to either. He’ll tell her eventually, but he knows she might even cry _for_ him, and Jean’s not sure he’d be able to stop himself from crying with her.

The day passes slowly, but still keeps Jean busy enough to occupy his mind. He’s able to drive home with pulling over only one time, feeling a small panic attack crawling its way up his throat. He wills it away, presses his forehead heavily against the steering wheel, counts his breaths one by one.

His phone buzzes from its place in the cup holder, but Jean just puts the car back into drive and continues down the highway towards home.

His eyes are sort of fixed on his white knuckled grip on the steering wheel as he’s pulling into his driveway, so when he glances up and sees a familiar figure seated on his porch, he almost drives straight into his closed garage door.

Marco’s holding two plastic bags in each hand, and Jean slowly pockets his keys as he walks towards the porch.

“Marco?” Jean says, and when Marco smiles at him, it’s warm and eager, and Jean’s pretty sure he almost cries right then and there just from that, fuck.

“We’re having a movie marathon,” Marco says, and when he holds up the two bags, Jean can see the protruding corners of a few DVD boxes sticking out of one bag, and a few bags of candy and chips vaguely through the plastic of the other.

“I - um, why?” Jean asks hesitantly, and when Marco’s smile softens slightly, Jean’s stomach twists painfully, in the most welcome, terrifying way.

“Just thought you might need a little distraction,” he says.

It’s probably the sweetest fucking thing anyone has ever done for him, and Jean has to fight _really_ hard not to fling himself at Marco and press his face into his chest, suddenly remembering the warmth he felt from last night. How safe he felt, how _right_ he felt.

Instead, he lets his lips quirk up in a slight smile and says, “Thanks,” in a shaky voice, and Marco just smiles gently at him again, nodding towards the door. Jean digs out his keys, opens the door, and it’s then he remembers the bundle on the couch, and he freezes in the middle of the foyer, clenching his keys in a tight fist.

Marco must know exactly what’s passing through his mind, and he sets his bags on the floor, placing a heavy hand on the back of Jean’s neck.

“Let’s bury him, yeah?”

The words are less painful than Jean expected them to feel. They don’t pierce him like daggers, they don’t twist like knives into his guts and skin. They don’t feel like salt on a wound that hasn’t yet healed.

They bury him in the garden, and Marco is careful to put the begonias back in their places, patting the soil down gently, smoothing his hands over the surface. There’s dirt caked under both of their fingernails now, and when Marco stands back up, wiping the palms of his hands on his jeans, the silence that falls between them isn’t heavy. It’s hopeful, in a way, and Jean looks at Marco, watches the way the shadows of the setting sun hit the curve of his cheek; the sharp jut of his jaw, the side of his nose, the wisps of hair that flutter gently in the breeze.

“So,” Jean says, clearing his throat. “What movies did you bring?”

Marco’s eyes light up, and he glances once more at the garden before grabbing Jean’s wrist and steering him back inside. When they get to the living room, Marco dumps out his bag of food onto the table, and when a few boxes of Sno Caps tumble out, Jean looks at Marco, raising an eyebrow.

“I remembered you liked them,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, and Jean very vaguely remembers mentioning that fact in a text conversation a while ago, but the fact that Marco _remembered_ gives Jean those stupid fucking butterflies he’s been trying to fend off.

He distracts himself by digging into the other bag, pulling out a few movies and reading their covers, and,

“The Little Mermaid? Really?” Jean asks, laughing a little bit.

“What? I love Disney,” Marco defends, crossing his arms and scoffing, and Jean just rolls his eyes and goes through the other titles. Most of them are actually pretty good, like The Matrix, and Pulp Fiction, and even the entire Kill Bill series. Jean loves action movies, so he shoves the other movies back into the bag before walking towards his DVD player to pop The Matrix in.

When he walks back to the couch, Marco nods his head in approval, and Jean just rolls his eyes again, settling himself into the couch cushions, ripping open a box of Sno Caps and shoving a handful in his mouth.

He almost chokes on the mouthful of chocolate when Marco scoots closer until their thighs are pressed together, knees knocking and shoulders touching. Jean manages to swallow, but he jumps again when Baby mewls and climbs up his pant leg, settling herself in the space where both of their thighs meet. Finlay settles at their feet, as if sensing Jean needs them both right now. The kittens are asleep in the kitchen, in a small warm pile, but their presence in the house makes Jean’s heart feel like it’s going to burst out of his chest.

As the movie progresses, Jean feels himself leaning more heavily into Marco’s side, one hand hugging himself and the other curled around Baby’s body, stroking her softly to the sound of Marco’s own breathing.

Marco tilts his head to whisper something about the movie, and his breath is warm against Jean’s cheek, and when Jean turns his head towards him, their eyes lock.

It’s the same brassy, beautiful dark color Jean remembers the first day they met, the same flecks of gold freckling the irises, the same short lashes that flutter when he blinks, and Jean really doesn’t know what passes through his mind when he surges forward and presses his lips to Marco’s, off-center and fucking perfect.

When he pulls away, his face feels warm, but Marco doesn’t look mad, just curious, lips still parted slightly, and Jean makes a small, strangled noise when Marco reaches up, grips the back of his neck, and pulls him closer again, licking into his mouth softly. The kiss tastes like chocolate and artificial fruit from the gummy bears Marco was eating, and the movie seems to fuzz out of Jean’s mind, because the only thing that matters right now is the feel of Marco’s teeth grazing his lower lip, sucking it gently into his mouth before releasing it.

Marco gently places Baby on the floor, where she mewls tiredly before curling up against Finlay, and Jean’s fingers itch for his phone to take a picture, but then Marco’s lying back on the couch, tugging Jean by the wrists until he’s settled on top of Marco’s chest, noses pressed together. Jean lets out a shaky breath as he says,

“M’not squishing you, am I?”

Marco grins, wide and bright, shaking his head as he wraps an arm around Jean’s waist, his other hand coming up to cup the back of Jean’s head. “Kiss me again?”

Jean’s heart flutters around in his chest, begging to explode out of his ribs and chest and fly up into the sky, and he complies happily, darting down and tilting his head to the side to slot their mouths together. It’s wet and warm, and Jean makes another noise against Marco’s mouth when the other boy slips his hands up the back of Jean’s shirt, pressing calloused palms against Jean’s skin, slowly heating up under the touch. Jean cups both sides of Marco’s face, pressing into him almost embarrassingly desperate, but he doesn’t fucking care right now, because he’s _kissing Marco_ , and it feels like taking a drink of cold water after being out in the desert for fucking _weeks_.

“Is this okay?” Marco asks after a while, pulling back to catch his breath.

Jean licks his lips, runs his thumbs under Marco’s eyes, over the curve of his cheeks, and he kisses the corner of Marco’s mouth, feather light, says,

“Yes. Fuck, _yes.”_

He doesn’t care how pathetic he sounds, and Marco doesn’t seem to either, because he bites his lip on a smile before kissing Jean again, nipping at his lower lip and making Jean shiver against him.

They make out like dumb teenagers for the remainder of the movie, kissing until Jean’s lips are red and raw, until his lungs feel like they’re going to explode from holding his breath too long, and when he places his head on Marco’s chest, the last thing he registers before falling asleep completely is gentle fingers threading through his hair.

\--

It’s the sun shining through the open blinds that wakes him up, and the heavy, warm weight of something soft on his chest. Jean opens his eyes, and is met with Finlay’s ear flopped over his face, the large animal curled up on his chest. Baby is somewhere down by his feet, and he can hear the kittens mewling pitifully from the kitchen, probably hungry for breakfast.

Jean reaches out for his phone on the coffee table, checks the time and sees his alarm isn’t supposed to go off for another half hour. He lets out a quiet groan, because he’s already awake now and he knows there’s no way he’s going to fall back asleep.

He wrestles Finlay off of him, the dog snuffling in protest before trotting over to curl up by the fireplace, falling back asleep, and Jean sits up, running a hand through his hair as the events from last night hit him like a ton of bricks. His chest constricts, and he closes his eyes as he remembers the way Marco’s lips felt on his own, the wet warmth and the way Marco’s hands felt on his skin, hot and eager.

The kittens’ cries are increasing in volume, and Jean glances over to the side table, back to the coffee table, under the blanket tossed on the couch, between the cushions, on the floor, _everywhere_.

There’s no note, and when Jean looks at his phone again, there are no texts or missed calls. It’s like last night didn’t even happen. A twisting feeling in his stomach makes him suck in a sharp breath, eyes stinging, but he shakes his head, wills it away, because he knew this is something that would happen. This isn’t new, because Jean knew this would happen if he acted on his feelings. For some reason, even though looking at Marco gave him butterflies, it also gave him this feeling of hopelessness, and he tried so fucking _hard_ not to acknowledge it and let it seep into his mind like liquid into a sponge.

Obviously he was unsuccessful, and now he wishes he could just fucking wring his brain out like a stained rag, watch the red drip down onto the floor and disappear out of his body forever. Unfortunately that can’t happen, so Jean takes a deep breath, stands up, and walks to the kitchen to feed the kittens before going upstairs to get ready for work.

\--

It’s a slow day at work, not entirely unusual but still unwanted because Jean was really hoping for a distraction. He doesn’t see Connie until lunch time, because unlike Jean, Connie’s day has been filled back-to-back with patients, and even one emergency case of a hedgehog that got caught in some barbed wire and needed immediate attention.

Connie looks stressed but still upbeat when he sits at the table across from Jean, and Jean’s always admired that about him, how he can stay so collected. Jean remembers the day when Connie’s mother died, finally succumbing to the sickness that had plagued her for years. It must’ve been at least a little simpler since Connie was aware she didn’t have much time left, but he still came to work the next day, and though his eyes were ringed red and wet, he had this look of peace on his face. Jean’s hands twitched, and he finally reached out and clapped him on the shoulder, asked, “You okay?”

Connie had let out a breath, nudged Jean’s arm with his knuckles, and said, “I will be.”

The top of Connie’s tupperware container pops when he opens it, and he looks up at Jean, says, “How’re the kittens?”

“Good,” Jean says, clearing his throat as he pushes around his instant noodles with a fork. “A few more weeks and they’ll be ready to take down to the adoption center to find new homes.”

“Haven’t gotten attached to them?” Connie teases, grinning, and when Jean merely twitches his lips in response, Connie frowns and taps the table. “Hey, what’s up?”

“M’good, it’s nothing,” Jean says, shoving a forkful of noodles in his mouth to avoid having to talk anymore.

Connie doesn’t let him off the hook, though, and it must be because of the years they’ve known each other that he can tell exactly what Jean’s thinking. Jean wants to be shocked when a knowing look passes over Connie’s face, but he can’t because he knows he’d do the exact same thing if it was Connie in distress.

“It’s the firefighter guy, isn’t it?” he says, and Jean grips his fork tighter.

“Doesn’t matter,” Jean mutters, and Connie nudges his leg under the table.

“C’mon, what happened? Do I need to kick his ass?”

Jean sighs, sets down his fork before running a hand through his hair. “I kissed him.”

It’s silent for a bit, and Connie hums, thoughtful and slightly confused. “Isn’t that… a _good_ thing?”

“It wasn’t--” Jean shakes his head, sighs and grips his hair tighter. “It was just a fucking pity make out, okay?”

“What the - a _pity_ make out?” Connie says, exasperated, raising his eyebrows. “Dude, he made out with you _willingly_. I’m not even sure what the fuck a pity make out _is_. Do those even exist?”

“My cat just fucking died,” Jean hisses, breathing in slowly, trying to calm his racing pulse. “I kissed him, he felt bad for me, and so he decided to indulge my dumb fucking urges.”

Connie looks like he wants to say more, but Jean gets up, closing his container of noodles and shoving it in the fridge. When he passes Connie, the boy reaches out and grabs Jean’s sleeve, stopping him in his tracks.

“You don’t need to stop yourself from being happy,” Connie says, and there’s a fierceness in his words that Jean’s never heard before. “It’s okay to want something.”

There’s a brief silence, the only sound the hum of the refrigerator, and Jean lets out a strained breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t want anything,” He says, but his voice is raspy.

Connie sighs, releases his hold on Jean’s jacket, and turns back to his lunch.

When Jean makes it back to his office, he checks his phone and sees he has three texts. There are very few people who text him, and so Jean’s almost one hundred percent sure who those messages are from. His fingers twitch, but he can’t help but think about how fucking _nice_ Marco is. He’d never, ever tell Jean what he already expects, and that’s okay. Jean can make this easy for them both.

He shoves his phone into his desk drawer, and walks out of the room.

\--

Sweat drips down his back under the beating sun, and Jean sits back on his heels, wiping his face with his forearm, his hands dirtied and covered in soil-caked gloves. There’s a small pile of weeds next to him, and to his right Finlay is sunbathing in the grass, breaths slow and relaxed. Jean smiles softly, removing one glove in order to scratch gently behind Finlay’s ears before placing the glove back on and getting back to work.

The texts stopped coming after a few days, and Jean wanted to feel upset, but he knows it’s what needed to happen. For both of them, because Jean doesn’t want Marco to feel like he has to make him feel better, or that he has to fucking _pity_ him more than he already has.

Jean violently pulls a weed out, and winces with a few specks of dirt fly into his face. He wipes them away, leaving smears of brown, but he doesn’t care. He heaves a breath, sits back on his heels once more, and doesn’t notice the footsteps coming closer until a body is kneeling down next to him.

“Need some help?”

Armin’s voice is soft, and when Jean glances up at him, he has a careful smile on his face, hair tied back in a small bun.

Jean shrugs. “Sure, if you want to.”

They begin pulling the weeds in silence, the only sound coming from the breeze ruffling the leaves on the trees, the whoosh of cars passing by. The silence isn’t awkward though, just a little heavy, because Marco is Armin’s best friend, and so Jean knows Marco told him what happened.

“Is Eren still here?” Jean asks eventually, idly dragging his finger through the soil.

“Yeah, he’s here for another few weeks before he has to leave again.”

“It must be hard,” Jean says, swallowing thickly. “Being so far away from the one you love.”

Armin gives a sad smile, gently placing a weed in the pile between them. “It can be pretty hard, but I love him. I’d give him the world, if I could. Traveling makes him happy, his job makes him happy, and really, all I want,” Armin says, wiping some dirt on his shorts, “Is for him to be happy.”

Jean removes his gloves, most of the weeds gone by now, and when Armin speaks again, his voice is soft,

“I want you to be happy too, Jean.”

“You don’t - ” Jean swallows, digging his fingers into his thighs. “You don’t _understand_.”

“He really likes you,” Armin says casually, sitting back on his heels and reaching up to squeeze Jean’s shoulder with dirt-caked nails. “If you don’t like him back, that’s fine, but please don’t lead him on, okay?”

Armin stands up, and it takes Jean a few seconds to process his words, and then he’s chokes a bit, splutters out a desperate,

“ _Lead him on_? What -  he doesn’t even - _Armin_!”

But Armin’s already walking back to his house, hands shoved in his pockets, humming quietly, and Jean groans and buries his face in his palms. How the _fuck_ can he lead someone on who doesn’t even like him in the first place? How does that even work?

A small, tiny spark of hope flutters up Jean’s spine and up into his brain, expanding and brightening, and he gasps quietly, pulling out a few clumps of grass when he grips the sun-warmed ground beneath him.

His fingers itch suddenly to text Marco, to call him, to do _something_ , but a thick, helpless feeling wedges itself in his throat when he thinks about the fact that he’s probably already fucked it up.

Finlay yawns as he wakes up, shaking his head gently before nudging Jean’s thigh with his wet nose, and Jean lets out a slightly hysterical laugh as he buries his face in Finlay’s fur, breathing into the soft body and whispering quietly,

“I’m _such_ an idiot, Finny.”

\--

He doesn’t know why the thought didn’t ever cross his mind, the fact that maybe, just maybe, Marco _liked him back_.

Well, Jean sort of knows why that thought never crossed his mind, but he hates thinking about it. He’s always had some sort of weird, self-esteem influenced complex of There’s No Fucking Way Anyone Could Ever Like Me And That’s Perfectly Okay even though it’s _not_ okay, and Jean guesses it just took him falling in love to figure that out.

It still has yet to hit him completely, and he’s still sort of stuck in the mindset of that opportunity already having passed him. It’s not entirely his fault that he’s incredibly hard to like, let alone fall in love with, and Marco probably doesn’t even like him that _much_. If at all, and - fuck, there he goes again. Jean bites his lips and sighs, bringing his focus back on the surgery at hand. He’s finishing the task of stitching up a small calico cat who had an abdominal obstruction from swallowing part of an Ace bandage, and he cleans up around the incision before removing his gloves, tossing them in the waste bin. Sasha left the surgery a few moments ago to deal with some sort of commotion in the lobby, and Jean’s about to call her back to take the cat back into the resting room when the door bursts open suddenly.

Sasha looks out of breath, face glowing and a wide grin on her face, and Jean looks at her suspiciously.

“Sasha, can you take this cat back to the resting room until her owner can pick her up?”

“Yeah, yeah, but,” she starts, breathlessly and excited. “There’s someone here to see you.”

Jean furrows his eyebrows. “My next appointment isn’t for another twenty minutes.”

He glances down at his lab coat, covered with a little bit of blood from the recent surgery, but Sasha looks eager and a little bit desperate, and if there’s an angry customer or an emergency he has to deal with, he guesses he better get it over with. He sighs, nods towards the cat on the table, and says,

“Okay, take care of her. I’ll be right back.”

Sasha is practically vibrating, and Jean raises an eyebrow at her as he passes, making his way towards the lobby, and he makes a face at his clothes again, but he doesn’t bother fixing himself up because he just wants to get this confrontation over with so he can go clean up. There’s whispering voices and a few giggling noises coming from the lobby, and when Jean turns the corner, finally stepping out into the room, his stomach seems to drop down to his feet, flattening on the floor as his chest tightens up at the sight before him.

Marco’s standing in the middle of the lobby, face flushed and sweaty as if he ran here or something equally as unplausible, and he’s wearing his work clothes, white tank top and ugly, mustard yellow pants, thick black boots adorning his feet and his matching jacket tied around his waist. He’s holding a small, simple bouquet of flowers (fucking - _god_ , fucking pink _begonias,_ and Jean thinks he’s about to pass out, oh god).

“Marco,” Jean rasps, hands clenching into fists and face growing warm. He’s not sure if it’s because of _Marco_ , or because half of the employees have peeked out of their offices just to see the commotion. Christa, the secretary at the front desk, is covering his mouth with her hand and looking positively giddy. Jean makes a strangled sort of noise. “What are you _doing_ here?”

Marco clears his throat, taking a small step closer towards Jean, and there’s a stark, determined look on his face. “I’m not, uh. I’m not sure what I did to make you regret the other night, but I really fucking like you, Jean, and if you ignoring my texts and calls was your way of telling me you don’t like me back, please tell me now.”

The room goes silent, and Jean makes another quiet, desperate noise, cheeks going so red he’s surprised his head and heart haven’t exploded yet, and _god_ he thinks he might. He thinks he might just implode right fucking now in the best way, his guts and insides splattering all over the walls because his body feels like it’s being filled with _something_. He’s not sure what, but it’s warm and thick and welcome, and Jean bites his lip as he shuffles closer, carefully taking the flowers out of Marco’s hands.

“Um. What time do you get off of work today?”

“Five o’clock,” Marco replies, and his voice is breathless, hopeful.

Jean keeps his eyes averted, clearing his throat as he buries his nose slightly into the bouquet. “Meet me at my house after you get off.”

WIth that, he grips the flowers tight, turns around, and darts back to his office, but he doesn’t miss the wide, butterfly-inducing grin Marco gives him, or the tiny squeal Christa and a few other nurses let out. He doesn’t miss the knowing, smug look of Connie as he passes him, and he definitely doesn’t miss the way his heart thumps almost sporadically against his ribs.

\--

Marco’s already sitting on Jean’s porch when Jean pulls up into his driveway after work, and Jean’s not sure what’s shaking more, his hands or his nerves, trembling and sparking and causing goosebumps to raise on his body as he steps out of his car, making his way towards Marco and watching as Marco stands up before him. Jean looks up, a mere few inches separating them, and his voice is surprisingly steady when he says,

“You saved Baby’s life.”

The first time they met, Jean recalls the way Marco held Baby close to his body as he removed her from the tree. Jean remembers how his knees went weak when Marco smiled at him, how his fingers trembled when the sun hit Marco’s jawline just right, when Jean got a good look at his eyes and his freckles. Jean recalls the fond way Marco looked at Armin when he spoke about Eren, and Jean recalls the fond way Marco looked at _him_ when Jean spoke about the things he loved.

“I think…” Jean says, taking a deep breath because he’s feeling a little light headed and fuck, passing out right now would be _really_ fucking embarrassing. “I think that’s when I knew I was like. Utterly fucked..”

He’s blushing, and god, he’s such a fucking nerdy tomato, and Marco’s looking at him with those fond eyes again. Jean knows this is what he has to do, what he has to say, before he loses his nerve and ends up dashing into his house and locking the door behind him, leaving Marco outside to drive home and never come back.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Marco says quietly, and then he steps closer to Jean, until the toes of their shoes are touching and Jean has to look up at Marco because Marco, the bastard, has a good few inches of height on Jean. “I’m pretty utterly fucked too.”

The breeze flutters Jean’s hair in his eyes, and before he has a chance to brush it away, Marco’s doing it for him, fingers gentle, and then a warm arm is wrapping around his waist, making Jean stumble forward, gripping Marco’s biceps for balance. The gold flecks in Marcos eyes are practically gleaming, hopeful and questioning, and Jean lets out a slow breath, answering the unspoken words between them by wrapping his arms around Marco’s neck and bringing him down for a kiss.

Kissing Marco is just as mind blowing and perfect as it was the first time, and Jean makes a quiet noise against his mouth, fisting Marco’s hair as Marco presses them together, because he wants this so bad, and he’s so in love it _hurts_ , his chest stinging and expanding and his breaths coming out stuttered and pathetic as he licks his way into Marco’s willing mouth. Marco’s arms wind fully around him, and Jean mumbles something incoherent into his mouth as he stumbles his way towards the front door, managing to fish his keys out and tug Marco inside, kicking the door shut behind him without removing his lips from the warm, soft ones in front of him.

Marco’s hand slips up the back of Jean’s dumb work scrub shirt with the tiny beagles on it, and Jean shivers when Marco’s nails rake up his spine. He pulls back, lips parted, about to say something, when a heavy weight barrels into them, almost knocking them over.

Marco chuckles as he steps away slightly, reaching down to pet Finlay’s head, the dog panting and happy, tail wagging excitedly. A small meow and a sharp, vague pain in Jean's leg causes him to look down, and he sees Baby climbing up his pant less, eyes wide and pleading for pets and love, and Jean’s heart softens, feeling himself surrendering to her, but then a hand is gripping his chin gently, lifting his face up.

“I know your babies are desperate for your attention,” Marco says, and his voice is low and inviting. “But I’ve been thinking about what your face would look like with my cock in your ass for weeks.”

Jean’s pretty sure his cock _twitches_ , throbbing against the confines of his pants, and his voice is meek and raw when he says, “Bedroom?”

Luckily Baby has unlatched herself from his pant leg and is now batting at Finlay’s tail, so they’re distracted enough not to follow them as Jean grabs Marco’s hand, warm and firm in his own, and drag him up the stairs. He’s positive that he’s never been more eager for sex in his life, and when he glances back, Marco’s eyes are dark, and there’s a twitch to his lips that has Jean swallowing thickly, stumbling into his room. Marco makes sure to shut the door behind them, and Jean has a brief, fleeting thought that maybe they should lock it, because he remembers vaguely watching a dumb show on Animal Planet with a segment on dogs that could open doors. Finlay’s never opened a door before, but if Jean gets cockblocked right now he’s one hundred percent sure he’s going to scream.

The idiotic thought is wiped from his mind when Marco pushes him down onto the mattress, grin adorning his face as he climbs up on top of Jean, hovering over him.

“Hey,” Marco says, smile widening when Jean bites his lip.

“Hi,” Jean manages, hands coming up to grip Marco’s shoulders, and Marco leans down and nudges his nose against Jean’s softly before kissing him, chaste and soft, Marco pouring so much emotion into it that Jean feels dizzy. Their lips sandwich together, soft noises filling their ears, and Jean breathes out shakily through his nose, because he feels giddy, elated, and Marco’s _here_ , kissing him and touching him and Jean’s sure he’s never been happier.

Marco helps Jean out of his shirt before shedding his own, and Jean lets his hands grip Marco’s biceps, feeling his dick throb again because _god_ , Marco has arms carved from fucking angels. It must be the firefighter thing, but Marco’s body is literally some sort of perfect marble sculpture or some shit. Jean feels suddenly self conscious about his own lanky body, the protrusion of his hips and the slight give of his stomach. He’s toned, but not like _that_ , and he’s a little softer around the edges, pasty white and all awkward limbs.

He averts his eyes, hugs himself a little bit, and Marco grabs his wrists, pinning them against the bed as he rolls his hips down, their clothed erections grinding against each other. Jean gasps, arching into the touch, and Marco says,

“Don’t hide, okay?” He noses at Jean’s jawline, kisses down his throat. “Wanna see you. All of you.”

Jean shudders, whispers, “Okay.”

They manage to shimmy out of their pants, Jean accidentally elbowing Marco in the chin, apologizing profusely as Marco laughs and cups his face, shutting him up with a kiss, and Jean’s cheeks are red, burning and warm as Marco reaches down, thumbing over the head of his dick, already leaking precome.

“ _Ah_ ,” Jean breathes, eyelids fluttering as his fingers dig into the sheets, hips thrusting up into Marco’s touch.

“Do you have lube and condoms?” Marco says, and Jean nods, flinging his arm out to his bedside table. He’s a little out of it though, and he jumps when his hand knocks against his alarm clock, sending it crashing to the floor. He probably broke the fucking thing, but he can’t even bring himself to care right now. Marco’s laughing again, batting Jean’s hands away to lean over himself, digging around in the drawer until he finds the items he needs.

Marco leans back on his heels, seated in between Jean’s spread legs, and his eyes soften as he smiles, asking, “You good?”

“Yeah,” Jean says, voice cracking slightly, and he winces in embarrassment. “Mhm. Yes. Great, awesome, _god_ , I want you to fuck me.”

Marco bites his lips, eyes darkening again, and he splays one hand over Jean’s ribs, thumbing the bottle of lube open with the other hand before squeezing a bit onto Jean’s cock, sliding his other hand down to stroke him a few times, firm and slick, and Jean gasps and arches into him, biting his knuckle around a whine.

“Stop that,” Marco chides, removing his hand from Jean’s dick. “I wanna hear you.”

Marco’s voice is sweet, and Jean sighs shakily as he drops his hand, staring down at the brunette as he finally slicks up his fingers, reaching down to circle Jean’s hole. Jean spreads his legs more, bends his knees to plant his feet flat against the bed, framing Marco’s body, and when the first finger pushes inside, Jean yields to the intrusion easily, already so fucking eager for Marco’s cock inside of him.

Marco’s scissoring his fingers, and Jean’s so lost in the hazy part of his brain screaming _fuck yes_ that he hadn’t even noticed a second finger slipping in, but he’s not complaining, and he makes a quiet noise as he lifts his arms, looping loosely around Marco’s neck as the boy licks at Jean’s nipple, circling the stiffening nub with his tongue and causing delicious, almost desperate sounds to fall from Jean’s lips.

“C’mon,” Jean whines, clenching around Marco’s fingers, now up to the third. “ _C’mon_.”

“Shh,” Marco says, nipping at Jean’s collarbone. “Don’t wanna hurt you. S’okay, we’ve got all the time in the world, yeah?”

Jean moans as Marco thrusts deeper, but Marco must be equally as eager because after a few more moments he removes his fingers, sliding on a condom and slicking his own cock up, tossing the bottle of lube aside before lying down next to Jean. Jean eyes him curiously, opening his mouth to ask what he’s doing, but Marco just smiles, says,

“I wanna try something, okay?”

Jean just nods silently, trusting, and Marco grips Jean’s hip, turning him onto his side so he’s spooned up against Marco’s chest, his back pressed against the taut muscle, warm and slightly sweaty already, and when Marco reaches down to grip Jean’s knee, lifting his leg into the air before lining up his cock, Jean lets out a quiet, “ _Oh_.”

The slide is slow, the burn stark but not overwhelming, and when Marco is fully inside, chest pressed flush against Jean’s back, lips against Jean’s ear, breathing hotly, Jean can’t help the flush the runs over his body, because this… fuck, it feels so _intimate_ , like he’s surrounded by nothing but Marco, his scent, his warmth, pressed so close and hot against him. Marco licks his earlobe, giving a careful thrust, and Jean gasps, tilting his head back to rest on Marco’s shoulder, his other hand coming up to bury his fingers into Marco’s hair. Marco wraps his other hand that’s not holding Jean’s leg up around his waist, and Jean clutches at his wrist, digging his nails in as Marco begins a slow, constant rhythm.

“You feel so good,” Marco rasps into his ear, and Jean squeezes his eyes shut, tightening his hold in Marco’s hair. “Been wanting to do this for so long. Wanted to hold you against me like this, feel your heartbeat under my hand.”

He slides his hand up Jean’s chest, pressing over his heart, the organ fluttering and beating erratically against his ribs. He kisses behind Jean’s ear, changes his angle slightly, and Jean cries out when Marco hits his prostate, _hard_.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Jean sobs out wetly, moving his hips back to meet Marco’s thrusts.

“There?” Marco whispers, moaning brokenly when Jean tightens around him.

“Yes, yes _please_ , Marco - _ah_.”

“Well, since you asked so sweetly,” Marco teases, moving his hips a little faster, the slap of skin against skin almost deafening in the room if not for the whines and moans falling like water from Jean’s lips. Marco’s thick cock rolls against that fucking spot, and Jean sees stars, mouth falling open, and he’s pretty fucking sure there’s drool dripping out of the corner of his mouth, it feels so fucking _good_. Marco’s clutching him tight against his chest, fingers digging bruisingly into Jean’s knee, holding him open nice and wide as he fucks into him, mumbling gentle encouragements into Jean’s ear.

“Want you to come from just my cock,” Marco breathes after Jean begs him quietly to _touch me, please, fuck._

Those words are almost enough to take him over the edge, but not quite, and Jean’s getting desperate, hot all over, warmth pooling in his abdomen. He feels light headed, short of breath, but so, so good, and Marco buries himself deep, rolling his hips _just right_. Jean cries out as his cock twitches, coming all over himself, thick spurts of white coating him and the sheets, dripping down his body as he clenches around Marco until the other boy finishes off, moaning into Jean’s sweat-slicked neck.

It’s quiet for a while, Marco’s softening cock still inside Jean, but soon, he pulls out, ties off the condom while Jean lazily rolls over, sticky and sated, come drying on his chest. He bites his lip on a grin when Marco crawls back onto the bed after tossing the condom, and he lies down next to him, linking their fingers, faces close enough that their noses touch, their breaths mingling.

Jean kisses the corner of Marco’s mouth, breathes shakily because his chest feels like it’s going to burst, and he’s completely okay with that.

Marco cups his cheek gently, says, “You’re so fucking perfect, Jean.”

Jean flushes, rolling his eyes and pressing his forehead to Marco’s. “Fuck off, _you’re_ the perfect one. You save kittens from trees.”

Marco snorts, slings a leg over Jean’s hip, pressing their naked bodies together.

“Also,” Jean whispers, smiling softly against and squeezing Marco’s hand. “We need to feed the kittens.”

“What?” Marco says, exasperated. “No ‘wow, that was totally the best sex of my life, Marco’?”

Jean laughs and shoves Marco gently, finally sitting up and stretching, groaning as his muscles loosen up languidly. “C’mon, my babies are hungry.”

He rolls off of the bed, making a face at the come drying on his body as he pulls on a pair of boxers, but before he goes to the bathroom to clean up, he smirks and glances back at Marco, says,

“But for the record? That was the best sex of my life.” He licks his lips, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve always wanted to get fucked by a firefighter.”

Marco snorts and climbs off the bed himself, tugging Jean closer and pressing their foreheads together once more. “I hope that’s not all you wanted from me.”

His voice is playful, but there’s an undertone of seriousness, of hesitance that has Jean reaching up to cup Marco’s face, running his thumbs gently over the swells of his cheeks. “I’d love a lot more, if you’re willing to give it to me.”

Jean’s blushing again, suddenly incredibly earnest, and Marco smiles, wrapping Jean up in his arms as he presses their lips together again, humming into his mouth and running gentle fingers along Jean’s spine, making the boy shiver.

“I’ll give you everything I have to offer,” Marco says, voice hoarse and quiet, breath warm as it ghosts over Jean’s lips. “Everything and more.”

Jean closes his eyes, winds his arms around Marco’s shoulders, and for the first time in his life, he lets himself fall.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
